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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23399584">Unions and Reunions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylanna/pseuds/Sylanna'>Sylanna</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drama &amp; Romance, Family Reunions, Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, The Silmarillion References</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 05:48:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>58,589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23399584</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylanna/pseuds/Sylanna</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir is in love with Lord Elrond. He keeps it a secret from almost everyone, being the dutiful minstrel and occational office help he is.<br/>When his Lord asks him to write a song about a historical event recently revived in Imladris, Lindir does his research and sets some good things in motion. Unfortunatly, the forces of evil are regaining their strength, interfering in his plans. It all begins shortly after a meeting of the White Council.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elrond Peredhel/Lindir, Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>173</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Minstrel's Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here's some more, mostly fluffy Elrondir, sprinkled with some Silm background.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the dwarves  enter the grounds of Imladris, Lindir doesn't know what to do. He knows his lord Elrond is out, hunting the orcs that have been wandering too close to the Hidden Valley. In general it is his Lord who greets travellers at the doorstep. (It is more of a plateau, but still, the idiom fits.)<br/>
Glorfindel, who would take over the welcoming when Lord Elrond is unavailable is nowhere to be seen. So it is up to Lindir, who is just a minstrel (and an occasional help to chief counselor Erestor) , to greet the company of dwarves. Including one hobbit. And Mithrandir.</p><p>The dwarves make a mess of the greeting, even though Gandalf tries to get them to calm down. When Lord Elrond's hunting party arrives, the dwarves even build a defensive group. Lindir does know about the tension between the dwarves and the elves in King Thranduil's realm, but is taken aback by their animosity towards the elves of Imladris. He knows he himself isn't striking the best pose eithter and he ducks down.<br/>
Fortunately, Lord Elrond is able to defuse the situation. Lindir's role is to carry off a ork blade, pressed into his hands by his lord. There damn thing stinks and feels vile, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's made enough of a mess out of himself. The sword he carries to the smith. It would be a shame to let steel go to waste, even if it has been made by orcs. It can be molten and re-purposed.<br/>
Then Lindir goes back to his duties, far away from the dwarves. For that he is glad, even if he won't see his Lord again.</p><p>He sees his Lord Elrond sooner than expected. On the fifth day of the invasion by the dwarves (as he's taken to calling it, because they certainly are no guests – they are distinctly lacking in manners) he's just ordering some papers in Erestor's office, when the master of provisions enters. Another problem has been caused by the dwarves, and Erestor sends Lindir to inform Elrond. Lindir is by now certain that the adviser knows of his affections for their Lord and likes to torment him. But Lindir is not an elfling anymore, he can handle such tasks with dignity.<br/>
Even conversations about wine and provisions when faced with bathing dwarves. Seriously, there are bathing pools in Imladris, why do they have to use a fountain for their amusement? Lindir is glad to see he isn't the only elf struggling with the presence of the dwarves, for his Lord seems to share the sentiment.</p><p>Shortly after, he finds himself composing a letter to a merchant to restock their wine cellar. He decides he likes the dwarves less than King Thranduil's visits. With their own kin they at least share language and culture. But asking the dwarves to be considerate is like trying to get a reaction from a stone. He muses what would happen, should his these two parties ever meet. He smiles at the thought.</p><p> </p><p>The next time Lindir sees his Lord, he nearly topples over his own two feet.<br/>
His task is fetching Lord Elrond for an impromptu meeting with Lady Galadriel, Saruman and Mithrandir. Therefore he is standing in the small office Elrond occupies and waiting for his Lord to exit his private chambers.<br/>
When the Lord of Imladris steps into the office, Lindir has to swallow. His Lord is wearing a purple robe and a golden coat. The purple fabric has small intricate ornaments decorating it. A line of brownish-golden buttons holds the robe closed.  The lining of the robe is a golden fabric, which can only be seen at the arm's end. The Lord also wears his silver headband, as he always does, a sign of his status (He is Lord of Imladris now, but he could have worn so many other titles)<br/>
In short, Lord Elrond is beautiful and way out of his league (and oh, how Lindir is aware of this fact).</p><p>"The council is awaiting you, my Lord", Lindir says, glad that his voice doesn't betray him.<br/>
When he walks together with Elrond to the meeting, he remains silent, until they come across Mithrandir, where their ways part.</p><p>While the council is meeting, Lindir remains in his chamber. He needs time to think, and he won't get the calm to do so outside of his refuge, for there are still the dwarves.</p><p>He still can't understand why seeing his Lord in those purple robes had thrown him so much. He is aware of his feelings for the older elven, knows he is attracted to Elrond's mind and body.<br/>
He decides it must have been the colour, that contrasted so nicely with the pale skin. And the shimmer of the moon.<br/>
He suddenly is glad none can hear his thoughts. He must sound like a lovesick fool. He is a lovesick fool. Just his luck to be born an elf. An elven love almost never changes and only under extreme circumstances. He knows his feelings probably won't ever change.</p><p>The great Lady Galadriel suddenly is a presence in his mind. Lindir nearly laughs at that twist of fate. The Lady asks him for permission to farspeak. Lindir is hesitant. Is their meeting over? Has something happend? Is Lord Elrond alright? He isn't one to refuse the Lady, who is a princess in her own right. He opens his mind to her's even though his worry for Elrond seeps in their connection.<br/>
"Be at ease, young one. Your beloved Lord is alright. The council is ongoing. I found just myself distracted by your sorrow."<br/>
"My Lady. I am sorry for disturbing you", Lindir says. He chooses not to comment on the 'beloved Lord' part of her sentence. Does she know?<br/>
" Yes, young Lindir", Galadriel answers his unspoken question, "I know your devotion to him goes far beyond that of an attendant."<br/>
So much for hiding his secrets. But she's one of the only living elves who had seen the trees in valinor, of course she is powerful and able to see what he wants to keep.<br/>
"It does", Lindir admits. He feels her irritation at something that's happening on her side.<br/>
Soon, her focus shifts back t0 their small conversation. "Why are you drowning in sorrow then?"<br/>
Can't she see it? He phrases his answer carefully. "He's your son in law, married to your daughter and I have reason to believe that he loves her still. And even if he would have been unbound... He is my Lord, my king in all but title. I am a minstrel, a servant, far below his station."<br/>
"It is true, he still loves my daughter", Galadriel says. Lindir feels like crying, her words torture him, stealing the rest of his hope.<br/>
"And a part of him will belong to her forever. If you really love him, you must be willing to accept this."<br/>
"I already do." A stray tear runs down Lindir's cheek.<br/>
"But also, my daughter set him free when she sailed.”</p><p>Then her presence leaves.</p><p>Lindir is just confused. Lady Galadriel's words do not change anything but are kind nonetheless. Even if Lord Elrond has been set free by his wife, it doesn't change the bond his Lord still honors. Lindir won't make a move on someone whose heart belongs to another. It would be awkward, unwanted, unwelcome even and end their easy companionship. He likes to think he's a cautious elf and the awkwardness of rejection is something he does not want to experience.</p><p>Lindir resigns himself to silent suffering. The companionship he has with his Lord now has to be enough.</p><p>As he's sitting on a balcony, in misery, he suddenly notices some commotion on the lower level of the settlement. The dwarves are leaving. Unannounced and silent (as silent as dwarves can be) and like thieves in the night. So Lindir feels it to be his duty to inform the council of this. He stands up, wipes his eyes and runs up the stairs to the hall where the meeting is taking place.</p><p>After he's brought the information, his Lord dismisses him sharply and it stings. Lindir's eyes tickle with tears and he runs towards his rooms. The ways of Imladris are thankfully empty, so no one witnesses his shame.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Request at Dinner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lord Elrond has a small request for Lindir</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The night passes, before he feels ready to leave his chambers. He hopes the other inhabitants he will come across won't notice his red eyes. His dreams had not been kind that night. Also, he doesn't feel like explaining his feelings.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Because Lindir is a very dutiful ellon who has promised Erestor his help yesterday, he goes to the room the adviser is using as office. He skipped breakfast, fearing his Lord would notice his swollen eyes. This day, the last thing he needs is to add to his Lord's sorrows.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Erestor certainly notices Lindir's subdued mood, but is kind enough not to mention it. Instead he gives Lindir some easy enough tasks, probably recognizing the ellon needs some work to get distracted from his thoughts. There is a reason Erestor is the main adviser to this house.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">So this is why Lindir finds himself cleaning the mess the dwarves left behind. Well, he isn't doing the cleaning by himself. Some other elves, both female and male had offered their help. Still, even for five motivated elves, it takes some hours to get everything done. The naugrim were very unruly guests. This is the mildest description of their behavior.</p><p class="western">Lindir delegated the work so every helper has one room to clean, leaving the worst place (the place the dwarves held their feast) to himself. It would be unfair if he assigned someone harder work than he himself would have to do. He's glad the others are helping, he doesn't need to antagonize them.</p><p class="western">The room's a mess. There are broken chairs, wood splinters and leftovers on the floor. Lindir remembers the tale the hobbit told about the dwarf invasion in his house. There, the dwarves cleaned up, but clearly they weren't inclined to show such courtesy to the elves. It is unfair, for the elves of Rivendell hadn't had a part in their past tragedies. There's no upside to such thoughts, so Lindir just takes a broom and starts swiping the floor.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He is just wiping down the last few pieces of furniture that have been left intact, when someone enters the room. Lindir does not turn around immediately, because he is concentrated on getting rid of some dried fat on a table. At least this piece is salvageable. Some other seats and a small table will need to be replaced. In his mind, Lindir is already keeping a list of necessary items and of items that have been<em> lost.</em></p><p class="western">When he does finally turn around, his heart sinks. It is his Lord who had entered.</p><p class="western">Lindir bows deep. "My Lord. I am sorry for not greeting you properly", he says, cursing his old attire he had donned for his task.</p><p class="western">" Lindir", Elrond sighs. "You do not have to be so formal. You can address me by my given name."</p><p class="western">"Yes My... Elrond." Instantly Lindir curses himself for his slip of tongue. He's not an elf of Imladris. He was raised in a small elvish settlement which belonged to a human country, many years ago. His parents taught him the importance of addressing nobility formally, which ensured good trade and sometimes survival, depending of the mood of the reigning lord. It is hard for him to shake those habits. They've kept him safe since before his parents set for the havens. Letting drop the title of his Lord Elrond is going to take a while and Lindir is unsure if he even wants to loose the habit. Thinking about his sentences keeps him safe from mistakes. Internally, he sighs. He won't refuse his Lord in this matter. He will try it, if it is his Lord's wish. It doesn't change anything about their stations.</p><p class="western">"At ease, Lindir”, Elrond says calmly. “I saw you when I walked by the entrance.”</p><p class="western">Lindir remains silent. He doesn't feel like he has something to add to this sentence. He waits for his Lord to continue.</p><p class="western">Lord Elrond smiles. “Thank you for cleaning the mess the dwarves left behind. It should not have been your duty."</p><p class="western">"I volunteered, mylor... Elrond. It would have been your chief councilor or me to coordinate the cleaning. Erestor has duties enough and I had the time to help him."</p><p class="western">Elrond smiled. “Still, you are not the steward of this house, but I am glad you volunteered. So, thank you, Lindir.”</p><p class="western">“It was no hardship.” This time, Lindir manages to forego the title completely. He won't utter his Lord's name, but maybe this is a compromise he can make with his mind.</p><p class="western">Then his Lord takes him by surprise again.</p><p class="western">“Would you like to accompany me to dinner? It is time soon and you look like you could use a break."</p><p class="western">Lindir is shocked for a moment before he looks at his Lord and nods. "I would like to accompany you. I am almost done with this room now. In a few minutes I can depart. Do you wish to stay here or wait for me at the hall?"</p><p class="western">Lord Elrond stays and watches, which is more uncomfortable than it felt to ask the former question.</p><p class="western">Not long after, both elves are on their way to the dining room.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Dinner is an informal affair in Imladris. There is no set time nor a protocol to follow. One could come and go as one pleased. This is contrary to the breakfast (where attendance is highly encouraged and one's seat is determined by kinship and nobility). So it is possible for Lindir to sit together with his Lord at the same table when the sun is high in the sky. In the mornings, his seat is always at the high end of the table for the minstrels, as he is their coordinator. He liked his place well enough, for the other musicians are pleasant company, but nothing could compare to sharing his Lord's table. Lord Elrond is the only one who has a fixed seat, at the head of the high table. In years long past, the seats next to him were occupied by his family. Now that Celebrian has sailed and the twins are out hunting most of the days, only Lady Arwen remains. At breakfast, the Lords Glorfindel and Erestor share the seats next to them nowadays.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Dinner is not set for a fixed time. When the sun is high in the sky, the cooks just put some plates laden with food on a long serving table and every elf is encouraged to take what they wish whenever they want. A full hall isn't something that occurs very often. Some families prefer their own meals and stay away from the main hall during this time.</p><p class="western">When Lindir enters the dining hall with his Lord, some places are already filled, but most seats are empty. It seems the Lord Glorfindel had been able to drag Erestor from the adviser's office. The latter doesn't seem to amused about it. The posture of the Lord of the Golden Flower makes it unmistakable that they do not need more company. They've chosen seats far away from the high table, where Lord Elrond will certainly seat himself.</p><p class="western">Lindir chooses some salad and a few pieces of cooked meat for himself. His Lord fills his own plate with small baked buns and also a lot of greenery.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Both of the elves kept silent while eating. Lindir himself did not know which topic he should breach to not annoy or bore his Lord. Certainly the typical talk of minstrels had little importance for a the Lord of Imladris. Thankfully, Elrond was the one to initiate the conversation once their plates were empty.</p><p class="western">“My dear Lindir, I have a small request”, Elrond said, smiling.</p><p class="western">A request. Lindir would never refuse his Lord anything. Well, as long as he would not have to break his own morals that is. He waited patiently for a better explanation of his Lord's wishes.</p><p class="western">“You know that it is soon the time for the feast of reunion.” The mereth aderthad. Elrond had reinstated the festivities after the battle of the last alliance. Then it was a reason for the remaining elves to be merry, but also to think about their long history and lost families. Once, the mereth aderthad was instigated by then High King Fingolfin to unite the elves in Beleriand that was. Elrond, being of the line of the High Kings had seen it as his duty to bring back the old tradition and make it a festivity every year.</p><p class="western">Lindir nodded. He knew about the preparations that were already beginning. He even overheard Erestor having some strong opinions about the whole affair.</p><p class="western">“Would you be so kind to compose a song for this year's celebration?”</p><p class="western">“Gladly.” This Lindir could manage. “Though I imagine you have a specific topic in mind.”</p><p class="western">“I do”, his Lord admitted. “There are no songs about the first mereth aderthad, even if there are some accounts of it's participants and proceedings. Would it be possible to make a song about the first feast?”</p><p class="western">“It is certainly possible, my Lord.” Lindir bit his tongue. At least Elrond did not remark on his slip. “But it will take some time. I will have to research the old scrolls myself, to get a feeling for them. Do you have a preference – I mean, for which instrument shall the song be?”</p><p class="western">“It shall be for the harp. I know of at least one musician with a harp who took part at the first mereth aderthad. Only if you are comfortable with this request, of course.”</p><p class="western">“I play the harp myself, maybe not as well as the masters of old, but it will suffice. It will be my pleasure to fulfill your wish.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you, Lindir.” Lord Elrond smiled. It was the smile of someone who had seen a lot in his life. The Lord of Imladris was a child of the First Age, Lindir was very much aware of this. His Lord had witnessed the War of Wrath when he had just been a child and then lived through the Second Age. Lindir himself had been born in the middle of this age past, but his family had had no part in the wars and dealings, hiding instead of fighting. He knew of this history only through the accounts of his teachers or from scrolls he read when researching the backgrounds of old songs. His Lord had lived through so much more. He would fulfil the wish, even if it meant spending hours in the library.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Drowning in History</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is explaining the origins of the mereth aderthad and setting up multiple future plotlines</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Lord Elrond's wish leads to some long hours spent with research for Lindir. The oldest part of the library houses the copies of old manuscripts dating back to the First Age. Even some precious originals are being kept there, but those are only for the hands of the proper historians.</p>
<p class="western">Lindir knows he isn't allowed to touch those, if he can avoid it. In his current wish to research the origins of the mereth aderthad, he can make do with the copies. At least for now, but the material he can reach should be enough.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>There are many tomes </span>
  <span>in the library</span>
  <span>, containing accounts of the more than six thousand years of the sun. Finding the ones containing the knowledge he's searching for is not going be easy, even if the works had been set into something akin to a chronological order by Erestor. Unfortunately, the adviser hadn't had the time to guide Lindir through the library today, which meant he had to find his own way.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">When sifting through the older scrolls, Lindir is glad he made the effort to learn Quenya years ago. The oldest accounts are written in the language the Noldor exiles spoke when arriving in Beleriand. He remembers something about the tongue being forbidden after some time. Nowadays Quenya remains the language of the wise and scholars. Only few elves speak it fluently today. It isn't a necessity. There are even some elves who do not speak the common human language. Lindir himself learned the ancient elven language after becoming an aspiring minstrel. Some of the old songs are written in Quenya and performed in this tongue still and he had longed for a better understanding of them. In the end it had paid off double. Now he was able to understand the songs and perform them with the correct pronunciation and feeling and he doesn't have to have a translator with him when researching the history for new material. His own songs are written in Sindarin, if they have lyrics, so his audience can understand and learn.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Most of the accounts he finds are very short. They tell about the delicate political situation of Beleriand in the first years of the sun. The crown being given to Fingolfin by Maedros, son of Feanor, not long before. The Noldor still divided into the two factions, the followers of Feanor's sons and those who were loyal to Fingolfin and his offspring. Also there were many Sindar and elves of the havens.</p>
<p class="western">It occurs to Lindir that there are some survivors of the first age still living in middle-earth. Cirdan of the havens is mentioned in the accounts. Probably also Glorfindel, but the name of this Lord isn't mentioned in the old scrolls. He could ask them personally for their accounts. The Lord of the Golden Flower is easy, but to Cirdan he would have to sent a letter. It is also likely that the Lady Galadriel had been a guest at the first celebration of the mereth aderthad. If the accounts Lindir has read are correct, she entered the ancient realm of Doriath some time after the feast of reunion. He will have to sent a letter to her too. It is less likely she will answer him. After their brief contact mind to mind, Lindir is less sure if she likes him. He's throwing his love at her son-in- law, he imagines she isn't very pleased by his heart's decisions.</p>
<p class="western">Also he could ask Lord Elrond for his version. The peredhel hadn't been born then, but he apparently knew someone who had been at the feast, one musician, as he had hinted in their conversation at dinner. In the old scripts about the mereth, there are two popular musicians of the First Age mentioned by name, but Lindir isn't sure if it's one of them Elrond was referring to. Both are rather unlikely options, if Lindir remembers the summaries of their lives correctly. Those he had to study when he became a minstrel. He thinks about it for a while.</p>
<p class="western">Daeron is out, based on the fact he vanished after Luthien left Doriath, never to be seen again. Lindir feels for him, because he can relate to this, leaving for a love gone or rejected. It is not an option the current head minstrel of Imladris is considering for himself, but he understands the principle.</p>
<p class="western"><span>Maglor Feanorion is other one. The elf had been an accomplished musician </span><span>(some rank him below Daeron in brilliance, but Lindir disagrees)</span><span> and Lindir loves </span><span>the </span><span>songs </span><span>he composed</span><span>. </span><span>Mainly because they are written for both genders to sing, whereas Daeron only made music for Luthien.</span> <span>Talking about </span><span>Maglor i</span><span>n a positive way is dangerous though</span><span>. The elf is a kin-slayer and </span><span>the secondborn</span><span> of the </span><span>famous S</span><span>ons of Feanor, </span><span>many elves still avoid </span><span>conversations</span><span> about that family </span><span>altogether</span><span>. Best not to show any attachment to them nowadays, some elves are still holding grudges. But Maglors disappearance overlaps with Lord Elrond's time of li</span><span>f</span><span>e. So it is possible for a very young Elrond to have met the last living son of Feanor. There is no notion of him ever dying. Maglor just vanished, too. </span><span>It seems to be a pattern with those old, renowned musicians.</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"><span>That leaves not much in terms of valuable information for Lindir to write a song. </span><span>There are no accounts of the </span><span>pieces</span><span> that had been sung then. He can just guess, based on his general knowledge of popular songs from the First Age. There are no detailed descriptions of the place where the feast took place.</span> <span>Lindir’</span><span>s just got some names, not many of them. </span><span>It is better than nothing, but still not enough. </span><span>There are not many </span><span>modern scholars retelling</span><span> the </span><span>original</span><span> mereth aderthad, </span><span>or he just hasn’t found them yet</span><span>. The elves obviously placed more importance of writing down the proceedings of the wars than the ones of a simple feast. </span><span>In itself, the celebration had been a highly political event, but not much had been decided then. </span><span>The lack of written sources </span><span>was to be expected, but is frustrating. Alas, asking eye witnesses for their accounts might be the </span><span>best option Lindir has. </span><span>He also begins to wonder why Lord Elrond revived this particular event as a new tradition. </span><span>Not that he is complaining. The feast provide an instance for merriment and happiness. Most of the inhabitants of Imladris like the festivities well enough. The</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Within the next hour</span>
  <span>, an idea begins to form in </span>
  <span>Lindir’s</span>
  <span> head.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">In the last few years, the mereth aderthad had been only celebrated with the inhabitants of Imladris. The topic of the whole feast is reunion, so it would probably be good to invite guests from the other elven realms over. Lindir has to talk about this with either Erestor or Elrond, soon. Maybe even the surviving participants of the first feast will take part again. Of course, this would involve a lot of planning.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">When the sun begins to set, Lindir stops with his research for the day. He’s found many scrolls detailing the perils of the First Age, but not much about the mereth aderthad. He still hopes for some kind of report to fall into his hands. With the natural light gone for the night, he will have to take a break though. Also, his belly is demanding nourishment.</p>
<p class="western">It is a bit frustrating to not have found what he was searching for, even though he expected long hours in the library. There are so many books in these rooms, some written by eye witnesses or nobles, some by scholars. Singling out the one event that’s interesting to Lindir’s current research out of the other six millennia of records is like searching for the needle in a haystack. In a very organized haystack, Erestor’s efforts are a blessing.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>When Lindir makes his way over to the dining hall, the stars </span>
  <span>are already shining down onto Imladris. The sky is clear this night. There are no clouds hiding Varda’s creations. Lindir is too young to have lived through the years of darkness, but he, like all elves, loves the stars. </span>
  <span>He stills his steps near a balcony and breathes in the crisp air. It is a cooling sensation in his lungs and he remains for a few moments. Underneath this balcony is a small garden. At this time of night it is mostly empty. </span>
  <span>There are a few nightly flowers with luminescent</span>
  <span> petals, glowing faintly in the dark. It takes a few moments until Lindir’s eyes have adjusted to the dim light. He is not alone. There are two other elves outside, they are sharing a bench in the garden, sitting in a quiet embrace. </span>
  <span>Lindir is relieved, they do not take notice of his presence. With their faces turned away, he can’t make out who it is at first. Then he recognizes the mop of blond curls of one of them. Such bright hair can only belong to Glorfindel. Lindir was unaware the Lord of the Golden Flower has a partner. This open display proves his previous misconception wrong. Now Lindir feels like an intruder on their happiness and takes his leave. Just as he’s turning away, the dark haired elf in Glorfindel’s arms turns around and Lindir recognizes him.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">When the next day dawns, Lindir wakes up early. He takes the hour he now has before breakfast to write down some of his findings of the last day. It helps him to keep his thoughts ordered. These notes also will be valuable when he starts composing the song his Lord commissioned. He also makes a list of what his duties for the day will be. A lot of it stems from his primary work as head minstrel. A task Lord Elrond had assigned to him long ago and he performs those duties with pride. It is his service to their community of elves.</p>
<p class="western">Of course, he will have to have a conversation with Elrond and Erestor, about his idea for the guest list for the next Mereth Aderthad. Hopefully he will also gain some insights on the few mysteries still on his mind. He also makes a mental note not to mention what he’d witnessed the evening before. That would be not courtly.</p>
<p class="western">After this is done, he takes his harp in had and practices a while. He decides to play a slow piece, sad but beautiful. He’s composed it long ago, channelling his feelings into music.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Half A Day's Work</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Breakfast is a lively affair. The minstrels on his table are always very chatty. They like every bit of gossip they can get their hands on. Lindir just listens to them most of the time. It is good to know what’s going on in Imladris on a daily basis. He likes the hearing the rumors, he just dislikes spreading them himself. Some of them can be easily proven to be wrong. He smiles into his bowl of milk.</p>
<p class="western">Today’s latest talk is about a the council which happened to days ago.</p>
<p class="western">“Silinde the Scribe told me, there has been an increase in letters to the havens and to Lothlorien”, says one of them. “I wonder what has been discussed at that council to warrant such a lot of paperwork.”</p>
<p class="western">“Just some changes in the patrols, I bet”, says another. “My partner, who’s helping with the paper stuff of the guards, always curses when that happens. By the way, have you recognized how distracted Lord Glorfindel has been for some time now?”</p>
<p class="western">Lindir just keeps his mouth shut. He knows more than his band of musicians, but he sees no reason to trouble their minds. Lindir saw the sword lying on the council table and he heard some of the words spoken. If the ring wraiths are out and about again, the evil one has risen and dark times are ahead. Just the more reason for feast like the mereth aderthad to take place with the nobles of all the realms. Lindir shakes his head and banishes those dark thoughts. As a minstrel it isn’t his place to interfere in the dealings of those ruling the realm, even if his traitorous heart is very much attached to the Lord of this realm. Also, it isn’t his duty to reveal Lord Glorfindel’s love live to a bunch of minstrels who like to write dreadfully romantic songs. Or songs about balrog slaying lords. Lindir certainly won’t give them another incentive to write more music about the Golden Lord. There are enough already, most of them not of very good taste.</p>
<p class="western">“Maybe he has a lover.” Those are the words that wake Lindir from his thoughts.</p>
<p class="western">“Who?”, he asks, fearing they are talking about his Lord.</p>
<p class="western">“Lord Glorfindel, who else? Where were you?”</p>
<p class="western">“I am sorry, I was in my own thoughts for a moment”, explains Lindir.</p>
<p class="western">“Daydreaming about someone?”, a young, cheeky elleth asks. She’s a minstrel in training, barely two centuries old. Her instrument is the flute. Lindir likes her, but she can be very perceptive from time to time.</p>
<p class="western">“No. Just about my duties.” Which is no lie, just a mild evasion. He was thinking about Lord Elrond, but this is a bit of juicy information he won’t give. As much as he likes his fellow musicians, he doesn’t need them interfering in his private live.</p>
<p class="western">The conversations shifts back to the usual morning talk soon after and Lindir risks a glance towards the high table. Lord Elrond sits in his throne like chair, with his chief councillor and Lord Glorfindel nearby. Lindir smiles at the relaxed faces all of them are sporting. The lady Arwen sits beside them, listening to their conversation. Sometimes she makes some suggestions, but Lindir can’t hear their words over the general murmur in the hall. He turns himself back to the table.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">He follows his selfmade schedule. After breakfast, he accompanies the other musicians to their study. There are several studies in fact, enough space for all who want to practice on their instruments. Each week, they have a small gathering, discussing their current projects and the planned auditions.</p>
<p class="western">Lindir asks them, how the preparations for the mereth aderthad are coming along. As minstrels, it is their job to serve the background music during the feast and they’ve been planning for nearly a month now.</p>
<p class="western">Most of his fellow musicians are already perfecting the pieces they’re going to play. So far, the playlist consists of mostly old, historic pieces.</p>
<p class="western">“I fear we will have to add in another song”, informs Lindir them. “Lord Elrond commissioned a piece for the occasion.”</p>
<p class="western">His friends are ecstatic. It does not happen often, a commission. Most often, they just compose the songs for themselves, without input from the outside.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">When the time for dinner arrives, Lindir leaves early. He has spent most of the day so far practising the harp and thinking of a tune for the new piece. Then the question arose in him, if Lord Elrond would want a more playful or rather a sombre piece of music.</p>
<p class="western">He’s aware, he has to talk to his beloved Lord soon, even if it means facing his feelings again. He leaves early in the hope of catching the Lord of Imladris in the dinner hall.</p>
<p class="western">At his arrival, his Lord is already eating. He’s in the company of Erestor and their conversation seems to be flowing. No reason to disturb. Lindir sighs in defeat and takes a plate to fill it with food. He suddenly has lost his appetite, but he forces himself to get some nutrition.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>It tastes like ash into his mouth. Logically he knows it’s just his sadness about not spending more time with his Lord making him feel this way and the food must certainly be delicious, but his mind </span>
  <span>is easily influenced by his emotions. It’s what makes him a passable minstrel, but sometimes he could really do without this.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>Lindir?”</span></p>
<p class="western">Lindir looks up, startled, like a deer caught by the hunter. Erestor is standing next to his seat, looking down and frowning. Almost immediately the minstrel turns his head away. He sees the filled plate in the chief councillors hand. Erestor must have gotten a refill, probably on Lord Elrond’s command. Lindir knows the other elf to be a peckish eater.</p>
<p class="western">He just nods, a sign for Erestor to speak his mind.</p>
<p class="western">“Would you mind coming after dinner to Lord Elrond’s study?”</p>
<p class="western">Lindir is a bit surprised at having his problems solving themselves for once. “I will be there”, he answers, careful not to show his eagerness. “What will the meeting be about?”</p>
<p class="western">“The Mereth Aderthad.” Erestor speaks the name of the feast like it’s vinegar on his tongue, before he sighs. “Just more work to be done.” Then the head councillor goes back to the high table.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Lindir fears the reaction he will get for </span>
  <span>t</span>
  <span>his idea </span>
  <span>he has</span>
  <span>, certainly complicating things even more.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">He gets delayed, because another minstrel joins him at the table and spending forever talking about her own interpretation of an old piece. When Lindir manages to leave the discussion with a polite explanation, his Lord and the adviser are long gone. So he hurries along the corridors over to Lord Elrond’s study.</p>
<p class="western">It is Erestor, who opens the door for him. His face speaks of agitation. Lindir is curious as to what they were discussing.</p>
<p class="western">“Oh, hello Lindir”, greets him his Lord.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Lindir manages a small bow and hears Elrond sigh exasperated. Oh, he forgot again to skip the c</span>
  <span>o</span>
  <span>urtesies.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“You have summoned me?”</p>
<p class="western">Erestor grumbles something about the changing of topics.</p>
<p class="western">“Yes, about the mereth. How far are you with the planning of the songs for the feast?”, asks Erestor. Lindir is unsure, why the adviser hadn’t spoken that question at dinner, for the answer is simple.</p>
<p class="western">“It is a work in progress. We will be ready, when the time for the feast arrives. So far, most of the practising the traditional pieces.” The he turns to both elves in the room with him. “Are there any wishes we should honour?”</p>
<p class="western">“<span>Yes, please no songs about the Fall of Gondolin, or about Glorfindel. Neither he nor I like them very much. Imagine you being reminded of your death at any celebration, just because it is a </span><span><em>good song</em></span><span>.”</span></p>
<p class="western">Lindir nods. He’s not one to deny such commands, especially because he understands the reasoning. “Any other topics best avoided?” There are a lot of songs about his Lord’s family, tragic ones, and he doesn’t know how sensible the ruler of Imladris is in that regard.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Elrond shakes his head. “I have no such things to ask. I am </span>
  <span>used to hearing</span>
  <span> of my </span>
  <span>family's</span>
  <span> history </span>
  <span>in rhyme. An unfortunate side effect of being born into the line of the kings of old.”</span>
</p>
<p class="western">Lindir nods. Then he changes the topic. “I was researching the history of the mereth aderthad yesterday. There’s not much in the historic books, but I made a list of probable eye-witnesses. I will have to write them to gather more knowledge. Since both of them are the leaders of their realms, I would require your assistance in reaching them though, for I doubt they will answer a letter written by a minstrel.”</p>
<p class="western">“I presume you are talking about Lady Galadriel and Cirdan?”, asks Erestor.</p>
<p class="western">Lindir confirms the assumption.</p>
<p class="western">“I will help you, Lindir”, promises Lord Elrond and the minstrel’s heart beats happily in his chest. “It is my commission, after all.”</p>
<p class="western">Erestor mumbles something about idiots, but Lindir doesn’t catch the words.</p>
<p class="western">“There’s more”, Lindir continues with courage overcoming his fear. “The mereth aderthad is a feast of reunion. Why do we not invite guest from the other realms to Imladris for the celebration? It would certainly strengthen the connections between our people. If we could get the surviving elves of the First Age here too, it would also provide a link to our past.”</p>
<p class="western">There’s a sound of choking coming from somewhere behind Lindir. He turns around and looks at Erestor. The head councillor has his eyes closed.</p>
<p class="western">“That is an excellent idea”, admits Elrond. “The feast is now established enough in Imladris to invite guest from afar. Unfortunately it is impossible to get all the survivors dwelling on these shores to the feast, but Galadriel will certainly come.”</p>
<p class="western"><span>There is sadness in his Lord’s voice and Lindir wants to take the elf lord into his arms to chase the pain away. It is a stupid wish, but there non</span><span>e</span><span>theless. </span><span>It also unearths the question of whom his Lord is talking about. Lindir has the irrational wish to find that elf and drag him to the feast, just to see Elrond smile.</span> <span>If he just knew the name, but his Lord is suspiciously secretive about it.</span></p>
<p class="western">“I guess, I shall write the invitations?” Erestor’s voice is devoid of emotion.</p>
<p class="western">“I will help”, offers Lindir. “Which elves will we receive?”</p>
<p class="western"><span>Elrond smiles.</span> <span>“Those who will come with their Rulers. Do not worry, Erestor, I will see to the invitations with you. It is still enough time to organize everything.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“We will have to triple the order on wine, if you intend to invite the elves of Mirkwood”, grumbles the Adviser. “And if you plan on inviting those dwarves back, I am quitting this job.”</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>E</span>
  <span>lrond shakes his head. “I do not expect any of them to come back to Imladris. They are on a dangerous journey and some of them will not survive.”</span>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>When his Lord sp</span>
  <span>eaks</span>
  <span> of his premonitions, Lindir always fe</span>
  <span>els</span>
  <span> a bit uneasy. Most of those visions </span>
  <span>are</span>
  <span> accurate and never </span>
  <span>are</span>
  <span> they hopeful.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>They are going for a dragon, Elrond. Any other outcome would surprise me”, Erestor grumble</span><span>s</span><span>. “If you like them so much, you should have given them a whole bunch of warriors to aid them.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“It is not the dragon that worries me.”</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Foreshadowing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lindir kn0ws enough about the workings of Imladris, but nothing of the military front. He’s aware of their hierarchy, of course, Lord Glorfindel being their captain, reporting directly to Elrond and answering to Erestor. Military stategies are definitely not his metier.</p><p class="western">“The dwarves would never have accepted elven companions. They barely tolerated the hobbit when they left. No, they are destined to find their way alone.” At least some wisdom, a sentence to end this discussion and a chance to change the topic again.</p><p class="western">“My Lord, I have some questions about your commission still. I realize, this is not very important, but if you can spare a few minutes?” Lindir hates having to ask for attention to shift to such trivial topics. The answers are substantial to him, but to a Lord such as Elrond, they should be insignificant and just time consuming. The minstrel braces himself for rejection again.</p><p class="western">It does not come.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">With his questions answered, Lindir leaves the study. The discussion between Erestor and Elrond he had interrupted when joining them started again as he was closing the door. Something must have changed between breakfast and dinner that ended the relaxed state Lindir witnessed in the morning.</p><p class="western">Living around curious minstrels has rubbed off on the head minstrel. He lingers a bit longer at the door than is strictly necessary.</p><p class="western">“Don’t tell me you’re planning on going alone!”, Erestor exclaimes. “This is madness.”</p><p class="western">“Should this come to pass, I will have to go.” Elrond’s voice is calm. “If the enemy is truly back, we must be prepared.”</p><p class="western">“We, correct. You don’t have to go alone. Take Glorfindel or any of the guard with you.”</p><p class="western">“This is no place for our fighters. They will be needed another day, in a future farther away.”</p><p class="western">“Imladris needs her Lord.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>Lindir d</span>
  <span>oes </span>
  <span>not like the sound of this discussion </span>
  <span>at all</span>
  <span>. He </span>
  <span>is now</span>
  <span> pretty sure his Lord had had another vision, prompting this behaviour. </span>
  <span>Whatever it </span>
  <span>is</span>
  <span> about, Lindir share</span>
  <span>s</span>
  <span> Erestor’s concerns. Elrond going to a dangerous place without backup </span>
  <span>is </span>
  <span>one </span>
  <span>o</span>
  <span>f his nightmares.</span>
</p><p class="western">Footsteps coming near force Lindir to quit his eavesdropping. The talk about the enemy is also very disconcerting. Should Sauron be truly back, then they should prepare for the worst. Suddenly, Lindir doesn’t feel like thinking about feasts at the moment. Still, he will honour his Lord’s wish. Maybe he can try to write a few verses for the commissioned song. At least Lord Elrond told him what he expects of the piece.</p><p class="western">“The first time the Mereth Aderthad was celebrated, it was to unify the different elven realms against Morgoth. We all know how this ended. Maybe you could start with the joy of the reunion and then leading over to a more troubled tone. It should remain hopeful in the end, if possible. I do not want to dictate you creative choices, my dear Lindir.”</p><p class="western">The mood the minstrel is in suits the middle part of the request. Maybe it will inspire him. He leaves the corridors and turns towards his own rooms. They are small, but he doesn’t need much. As long as there is space to store his instruments and his few belongings, Lindir is a content elf.</p><p class="western">He grabs his harp, a sheet and a quill and sits down on his bed. He breathes in and starts thinking about music.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">After two hours of playing a few melodies and writing down some ideas, his fingers begin to feel bruised. Lindir sets his harp aside, flexing his muscles. The ones in his are beginning to cramp. He picks up the sheet with his notes and starts rereading them. Already, some verses sound wrong in his head. He crosses them out. No need to well on those. He will find better suited words. Some he leaves for later judgement, because he is uncertain. When he’s in another mindset, he will check them over again.</p><p class="western">Lindir stands up and put the sheet of paper carefully away. He stores all his unfinished works and ideas in a box his mother gave him once. She had been a carpenter and she sailed a long while ago into the west. Sometimes Lindir misses her, but he knows she’s safe and he will probably see her again one day in Valinor. He himself is not ready yet to leave middle-earth. His love is still here and he won’t leave until his Lord does. As every elf does, he feels the end of their people in these lands coming closer. Maybe another century remains. Lindir shakes himself. There’s not much hope in him on this day.</p><p class="western">He decides to make himself useful. The best place to do so is in the near vicinity of Erestor. Probably not the safest place right now, but Lindir needs the distraction. A walk in the park just won’t do it for him.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He arrives at Erestor’s office nearly the same time the councillor does.</p><p class="western">“Lindir. I did not expect to see you again so soon”, says the other elf. “Has something happened?”</p><p class="western">At least the foul mood seems to have evaporated. “I have some time to lend you a hand. Do you have something to do for me?”</p><p class="western">“Heartbreak or other sorrows?”, asks Erestor. He’s picked up on Lindir’s habit of working away his thoughts a long time ago.</p><p class="western">Still, the minstrel blushes a deep shade of red. It must look weird with his pale complexion. “Both.”</p><p class="western">“Come in, then. You can go over the orders we need to place to restock the food we can’t grow ourselves here.”</p><p class="western">“Especially the wine, I presume.”</p><p class="western">“Correct. The dwarfish visitors certainly put a strain on our house.”</p><p class="western">Lindir smiles carefully. “Most of the minstrels I talked to, they were glad they are gone.”</p><p class="western">“Understandably.”</p><p class="western">Erestor then turns to his own work and Lindir goes over to the smaller desk, which he is allowed to use. The chief adviser’s workspace he makes sure not to disturb.</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>he next hour he spends bowing over some sheets with calculations and friendly worded letters. From Erestor’s side of the room he just hears some sighs from time to time.</span>
</p><p class="western">Once he is done with checking the documents over, he hands them over to Erestor again. “As far as I can see they’re ready to be sent out.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you, Lindir.”</p><p class="western">“Is there more to do?”</p><p class="western">Erestor looks up. “Not a good day for you either?”</p><p class="western">“I overheard a part of your earlier conversation with Lord Elrond.”</p><p class="western">“<span>You know, he </span><span><em>wants</em></span><span> you to address him by his given name only, do you? You can skip the titles here too. And I expected as much, you are not exactly subtle.”</span></p><p class="western">The blush creeps up Lindir’s cheeks again.</p><p class="western">“Is it true then. The enemy has returned?”</p><p class="western">“He’s never been away. Thanks to Isildur.”</p><p class="western">“<span>You know that some of the elflings wish that </span><span>Elrond ha</span><span>d</span><span> pushed th</span><span>e human king</span><span> into the damned mountain? </span><span>Not my own words though.</span><span>”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>And would have risked turning the humans against the elves, by killing an ally and king”, </span><span>Erestor</span><span> interjects. “</span><span>T</span><span>here has been enough kin-slaying in our history to last for all eternity, which only brought the doom upon us all. Do not forget, Isildur was of Elros’ line.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I know”, </span><span>Lindir</span> <span>acknowledges. “But explain that to the young ones. They always hope for the easy solutions, without considering all the facts. Back to my question. Is he gaining power?”</span></p><p class="western">“Mithrandir suspects as much, he brought a morgul blade to the council. He wants to investigate. Our Lord has promised him his help should he need it, against Saruman’s wishes.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods. Elrond has always been more fond of Mithrandir than of the white wizard. “Is Imladris in danger?” The real question he doesn’t ask. That would have been to eager.</p><p class="western">“Imladris is well protected, but nothing is certain, should the Dark One rise to his full power. For now, not much changes. All throughout this Age, there have been orcs strolling too close to the border. Our guards are doing their jobs, so do not worry, Lindir.”</p><p class="western">The words burn on his tongue. “And Lord Elrond?”</p><p class="western">“He’s had a vision. It may come to pass or not. I can’t tell you more for now.”</p><p class="western">Lindir keeps his mouth shut for a few seconds. His Lord’s premonitions come to pass more often than not. Erestor being agitated about something is a bad sign.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He spends the last few hours of the light in the library again. This time in the section where the scholars’ work is kept. Maybe some of them have references to lost books in them. Much was lost when the world was reordered at the end of the First Age.</p><p class="western">Unfortunately, his research proves to be fruitless. He can’t find more than he’s already got. Dejected, Lindir goes to the main hall to take a few last bites before turning towards his quarters.</p><p class="western"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This story is getting longer than expected. Apparently I can't write romances without copious amounts of pining.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Messenger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The next week is a busy one for Lindir. He doesn’t see his Lord very often, only a breakfast he can get a few glances. He only hears from one of his fellow musicians some gossip again. Apparently Lord Elrond is writing many letters towards the other elven realms, not just invitations. Except for Erestor, some other advisers and the noble family, no one is allowed to disturb.</p><p class="western">It makes Lindir sad, but he won’t take up his Lord’s time, if it is uncalled for. Instead, he writes the letters of his own, towards the Lady Galadriel and Cirdan, the shipwright. He sits long hours over those two missives, trying to find the best wording. It is a downside of being a minstrel, he has to second guess everything he puts onto paper. Especially when these words are addressed to some of the most powerful elven rulers of the Third Age. Lindir knows Galadriel, who he already dealt with once, won’t make a fuss if his words are a bit clumsy, but of Cirdan, Lindir is not so sure. He certainly does not want to provoke the elf responsible for producing the ships to sail west one day.</p><p class="western">When he is finished with this task, he gives his letters over to Erestor. The chief councillor looks like he lost a few nights of sleep. He accepts Lindir’s letters and puts them into the stack that will be sent out the next day.</p><p class="western">“Are those all political messages or invitations for the Mereth Aderthad?”, asks Lindir.</p><p class="western">Erestor squints his eyes. “Both. Some orders are mixed in, too.”</p><p class="western">“When have you last slept?” Lindir is afraid the adviser will soon faint from exhaustion.</p><p class="western">“Don’t know.”</p><p class="western">“Two days”, says a third voice in that moment. “I told you, you should not have spent the night awake.”</p><p class="western">Lindir whips his head around. Lord Glorfindel is standing in the door frame.</p><p class="western">“And I told you to knock before you enter”, Erestor deadpans.</p><p class="western">Lindir takes a step back. It feels to him like this is a conversation he should not take part in. These are the two most powerful characters under Lord Elrond’s command. Better not to get caught in the cross-fire of their wits.</p><p class="western">“I am here to get you to bed”, declares the Captain of the Guard. “No, this is not negotiable. You are commanded to rest, Elrond says so.”</p><p class="western">Then the warrior sweeps in and carries the chief councillor off. Lindir hears him protesting, as they progress down the corridor. He wonders how long those two will be able to keep their relationship secret. If there’s no talk at the breakfast table, he will be severely disappointed.</p><p class="western">The saccharine display made him also very aware of his own loneliness. Lindir aches for someone to care for and for someone who cares for him. The only one for him is the one he can never have. Curse his bleeding heart.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>He straightens the papers the pair disturbed on Erestor’s desk and then sits down in the now vacant chair. Under normal circumstances he would never use this seat. Right now, he need a few minutes and the steps over to his usual desk seem t0o much. This week is getting hard to bear already. </span>
  <span>He wonders if Elrond has slept the last night. </span>
  <span>The supposed reawakening of evil throws a shadow upon Lindir already. He escaped the horrors of war so far, but it’s creeping up on him.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>L</span>
  <span>indir sits for a long time in the chair, not wanting to leave. It is there the messenger finds him. The heavily breathing elf is one of the ones responsible to transport letters from one realm to the other. Lindir has seen him before.</span>
</p><p class="western">“I have an urgent letter for Lord Elrond!”, the messenger says in between breathless gasps. “Where is he? Where is Erestor?”</p><p class="western">“Erestor’s asleep and it is likely Glorfindel won’t let anyone disturb. Lord Elrond is probably in his own study”, Lindir replies. He does not want to sent the messenger to the councillor right now. The elf deserves a few hours of rest.</p><p class="western">“Let’s go over to Lord Elrond’s study”, Lindir encourages. He is being followed.</p><p class="western">
  <span>His Lord is not in the study, nor has anyone seen him recently outside. The best tip points them towards Elrond’s private quarters. The messenger insists on delivering the letter as soon as possible and won’t accept no for an answer. Lindir is more or less forced to lead the elf towards the family wing of Imladris. This part of the house is currently mostly empty, with the twins (and Aragorn) gone. The one guard standing at the entrance nods and lets them pass through. </span>
  <span>He confirms at least the Lord’s whereabouts.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>L</span>
  <span>indir just feels uncomfortable. He’s only been to the family wing a few times in his time living in Imladris, most often in his position as minstrel, when an injured family member asked for some music to aid their recovery. Lord Elrond’s quarters he’s seen for about three times. He knows where they are located, but he has no business there.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He knocks on the ornamental door. It is a wonderful piece of elvish craftsmanship and made of the finest woods available. </span>
  <span>Everything in the family wing is of extraordinary beauty, mirroring the inhabits of this part of the house. His Lord certainly deserves the best.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>F</span>
  <span>rom indoors, no sound answers them, so Lindir tries again. Louder. He even calls his Lord’s name. </span>
  <span>Still there is no reaction. The messenger next to the minstrel is about to enter the room. This is something Lindir can’t accept. There are rules! No one is allowed to enter who doesn’t belong to the household. Which means, Lindir, as head minstrel, is theoretically allowed to go in. </span>
  <span>He occupies a</span>
  <span>n</span>
  <span> official station in Imladris. A minor one, but it is a</span>
  <span>n</span>
  <span> office giving him some rights others don’t have.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>L</span>
  <span>indir signals the messenger to wait outside and enters the dark room. The sun is shining outside, but the curtains are drawn. This is the worst situation he was fearing for. His Lord is asleep, after hours of work and dealing with the most random problems and now Lindir has to wake him. From his previous visits, he knows the bed is located in the back of the room.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>My Lord?”, Lindir asks into the silence. “My Lord. You must awake!”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>He sounds like a desperate child and therefore cringes at the sound of his own voice. He is near enough now to see Lord Elrond’s form beneath the covers. His face is turned towards the door, the eyes unseeing. </span>
  <span>He must have been very exhausted when he fell asleep, because otherwise the warrior would have awoken by now. </span>
  <span>Lindir kneels down onto the floor beside the bed. He is very uncomfortable, in this room with the task of waking his beloved Lord. </span>
  <span>Elrond is breathing peacefully, Lindir regrets having to disturb his rest.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>He reaches out with his right hand, to touch the shoulder of his Lord, because the words weren’t able to wake him. </span>
  <span>The plan is to gently shake the body a bit, to get awareness into those beautiful eyes.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>I</span>
  <span>t works too well. His Lord’s eyes suddenly gleam and the elf sits up in one swift motion.</span>
</p><p class="western">Somehow Lindir manages not to shy away. The hard floor under his knees must play an important factor in this. His Lord’s eyes finally fixate on him, after sweeping the room for the presence of other visitors.</p><p class="western">“<span>Lindir?” His Lord’s voice is still laden with sleep and it is so cute. </span><span>He’s still wearing his formal robes, which makes Lindir fall even more in love.</span></p><p class="western">The minstrel blushes and is again very thankful Elrond can not read his thoughts. “My -” This time he catches himself. “Elrond.” It is strange to speak the name out loud, into the face of it’s owner. “There is a messenger with an urgent matter for you. Erestor was unavailable, so I had to lead him to your chambers. I beg your pardon.” The words rush out of his mouth before he can stop them.</p><p class="western">Lord Elrond seems entirely unimpressed. “Well done, Lindir.” The minstrel does not know if his Lord refers to his drop of the title or his action of bringing the messenger over.</p><p class="western">
  <span>Then Elrond raises his eyebrows; “What are you doing on the floor?” </span>
  <span>The minstrel is unable to form a response when Elrond</span>
  <span> offers his hand and gestures for Lindir to take it. </span>
  <span>For elves, who in general don’t share much physical contact with their own kind, this is a huge gesture of trust. Lindir carefully lays his hand into the offered one and let’s himself be pulled up. </span>
  <span>The skin to skin contact makes his whole hand shake. His heart beats faster than it should. R</span>
  <span>eality comes rushing back when his Lord ends the contact. Lindir mourns this development.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Thank you for informing me of the messenger”, says Elrond in a kind voice. “Would you mind assisting me for a while, should it be necessary?”</span></p><p class="western">“Of course”, Lindir answers, eagerly. This is another occasion to prove his worth, even if he does not know, which task are going to be asked of him.</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>hen his Lord </span>
  <span>opens the door and they step out into the corridor where the messenger is waiting. </span>
  <span>The elf has an impatient expression on his face which he tries badly to hide. Elrond just tells them to follow him to the study.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The letter is from the greenwood and King Thranduil obviously brought the fear of the Valar into the messenger. Life in the Greenwood has gotten more dangerous in the past years and the king of this realm had grown the sterner for it. The letter does not give much hope.</p><p class="western">King Thranduil reports an increase in evil beings near his borders. He does not ask for help. Instead, it is a warning. The elves of the Greenwood suspect the return of the enemy is near, with the old fortress of Dol Guldur being the epicentre. Elrond reads the letter aloud, so Lindir gets the information too, even if he’s not an adviser.</p><p class="western">The messenger adds at the end: “There is talk of closing the gates of the wood, to keep the elves alive, should the evil beings get to close to the halls of Thranduil.”</p><p class="western">Then the elf is sent away to get some rest. Lord Elrond leans back in his chair.</p><p class="western">“There is no use in arguing with Thranduil”, he says finally. “Ever since the Battle of the Last Alliance, relations with the Greenwood have been tense.”</p><p class="western">Lindir is aware of this fact, he also has nothing to add to this statement. It seems his Lord just needs someone to talk to and the minstrel is a willing listener. Lindir goes over to the fireplace, which had already been lit at their arrival, and prepares a kettle for tea. Usually, this would be a servant’s task, but there are none around.</p><p class="western">“Will you answer the letter?”</p><p class="western">“Yes, of course. Thranduil needs to know what was discussed at the last white council. His experiences overlap with Mithrandir’s findings.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods. Another thought comes to his mind. “Aren’t the dwarves on their way to the Greenwood right now?”</p><p class="western">“Yes. Which reminds me of Thranduil’s dislike for the dwarves of Erebor.”</p><p class="western">Not a good topic then. His Lord obviously still worries a bit for the Company. “Should we expect another messenger from the Greenwood then? Complaining about an invasion of dwarves?”</p><p class="western">There. Elrond smiles and Lindir could melt into a puddle on the floor. Instead, he serves tea.</p><p class="western">“Thank you, Lindir. This is very kind of you.”</p><p class="western">They sit for a while in silence, sipping the hot liquid.</p><p class="western">“Something is on your mind.”</p><p class="western">Elrond turns his head towards the window. “There are many things in motion right now. Uncertainties. But enough of this. Tell me about your progress on the planning of the Mereth Aderthad.”</p><p class="western">“Gladly. I have written letters to the Lady Galadriel and Lord Cirdan, now I will have to wait for their responses. Also, I have tried to find out what happened to Daeron the bard and Maglor Feanorion, whose deaths aren’t accounted for.</p><p class="western"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wooho, another chapter done! Thank you for reading :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Bards of the First Age</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Elrond smiles again, this time one can see how old he is. He is one of the most experienced elves alive, truly a child of the First Age. “I can not tell what happened with Daeron, for he vanished before I was born. As every elf does, I know some of his songs, but not much more.”</p><p class="western">“I expected as much. He was more known in Doriath than with the Noldor.” Lindir has done his research. “You know something of Maglor then.”</p><p class="western">“One could phrase it as such. He truly was an excellent musician. After the War of Wrath, the Oath was his downfall. He and his remaining brother were forced by their own words to claim the simaril or die trying. The stones burned their hands, when they held them. The stones passed their judgements, deeming them unworthy for their actions. Maedhros threw himself to his death and Maglor gave the stone he carried over to the waves, in desperation, having lost their purpose and hope for their curse to end.”</p><p class="western">“<span>He is dead then, too?</span>” Lindir didn’t know which answer he was expecting. Both options seemed very unsettling.</p><p class="western">“No. He did not. He lives stil<span>l, wandering </span>the shores of middle-earth. The elves of the havens hear him sing sometimes. He avoids contact with civilization, never coming into contact with anyone”, his Lord explained, sadness in his voice.</p><p class="western">“So I won’t be able to question him about the past.”</p><p class="western">“You won’t find him. I tried for a long time to reach out to him.”</p><p class="western">Now Lindir is intrigued. “Why?” He remembers the deeds the Feanorions had done and can’t imagine why someone would search the last of them out.</p><p class="western">Elrond remains silent for a while. Lindir waits patiently for his Lord to articulate himself.</p><p class="western">“As a healer, I feel compassion for all survivors of the First Age, whoever they may be.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They can’t seem to find happy topics to talk about. First the situation within the Greenwood, now the talk of the dark times long past. Lindir desperately wants to see his Lord happy, but he doesn’t know how to achieve it. As Elrond phrased it, there are evil powers awakening and much is shifting in the world. Happiness is not easy to find. Lindir is trying his best. With his fellow minstrels, he has already discussed some changes they are going to make in their schedules, upping the number of performances. Focussing on light tunes, emotional uplifting or relaxing ones. Not playing the saddest musics so often. As artists, this is the best they can do for now.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">In the following week, a lot of things happen, some good and some bad.</p><p class="western">The new schedule of recitals is welcomed by the populace of Imladris. Nearly every second evening, there are minstrels performing in one of the halls, Lindir is very often among them. When he had informed his Lord of these changes, Elrond had promised to come and watch. He does so with frequency, often in the evenings when Lindir is playing his harp.</p><p class="western">The relationship between Glorfindel and Erestor is now a rumour going around, but Lindir does not confirm his knowledge of it. He still suspects the new couple will want to take things slowly. Not interfering in the natural course of things is not in his own interest.</p><p class="western">More disconcerting is <span>another</span> message coming from the Greenwood. They are declining taking part at the Mereth Aderthad. Which is strange for a folk who likes free wine and feasts. Also, there is the information of them closing off their realm for everyone. This is not good, even Lindir can realize this. There won’t be any more messages and the relations to King Thranduil’s realm will be put on ice. If the Greenwood is in danger, they won’t know before it</p><p class="western">is too late.</p><p class="western">Other letters arrive too. There are many from Lothlorien. Most of them are concerning the upcoming celebration of the Mereth Aderthad. Many elves inform them of their coming. Lindir is helping Erestor out again, ordering the letters and making a list of attendants. The list grows very long, even if the feast is still some months off. Erestor is also already thinking about the housing arrangements for so many elves coming to visit.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Amongst all the letters concerning the feast or official business like trade agreements, there is a missive for Lindir, written by the Lady of Light herself. Apparently, the Lady Galadriel had deemed it important to answer a small minstel’s question about here experiences at the first Aderthad. She had taken the time to write many a thing down, for Lindir to know.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>Lindir,</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>Your question arrived shortly after the invitation, which I come to understand was you idea as well. Sadly, there are not many accounts left of the first celebration as it was done by my uncle.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>As far as the guest list of the first Mereth Aderthad goes, you have already a good grasp on it, with </em>
  <span>
    <em>assuming that </em>
  </span>
  <em>many of my cousins and their spouses were there. I will add to the end of this letter a list of songs I remember having been played there, as well a short order of events.</em>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>T</em>
  <em>here may be dark times ahead, but do not loose hope. May a thing will work out for you, think about my words.</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lindir pointedly ignores the last sentence. He knows she’s referring to their conversation mind to mind, when she told him of Elrond. He admitted to his love for his Lord, she basically warning and encouraging him. Confusing him.</p><p class="western">The dependencies she sent are very helpful. As Lindir expected, there are some songs mentioned he was able to date back to the First Age, many of them by the two great musicians. Surprisingly though, she added the first two verses of the Noldolante to the list. Lindir doesn’t doubt Galadriel’s memory, but so far he was under the impression this song had been written much later. He probably has to accept the fact, this piece is far older than he had assumed for long. Maglor had probably added verses as the time progressed, leading to one of the, maybe the longest, song of all times. Lindir makes a note to include these verses. The song is too long to be played in full, so most musicians decide which verses they are going to play. The version of the Mereth Aderthad he plans to have is not a copy of the first one, but a merge between the old and the new.</p><p class="western">New are for him the informations of the general proceedings. Why no historian had asked the Lady Galadriel of her memory is a riddle to Lindir. She seems fairly easy to reach with such requests, even if she is the ruler of an elven realm alongside Lord Celeborn.</p><p class="western">Apparently, there had been a Master of Ceremony, leading through the feast. Then it had been Fingon, the son of the King. Since there is no High King anymore, it is Elrond who will have to take the position of host. Maybe one of his sons, Elladan or Elrohir, will overtake the other position. After that, speeches followed by all the attending Lords. Boring, but this can be included in the revival without problem, seeing many elves already agreed to attend.</p><p class="western">Lindir will have to revise his plans for the program, yes, but the changes won’t be mayor. Fitting in all the speeches will takes some arranging, but it can be done. He’s also wondering, who will be doing those. Lord Elrond and Lord Celeborn are sure, but should he include Glorfindel. And if so, who will be his counterpart of Lothlorien? He makes note of those questions, to be answered another day. He’s confident there’s enough time.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">He’s invited to dinner by his Lord a day later again. Lindir’s heart beats faster again. This time it is Elrond who initiated their contact. The minstrel wishes his mind would not interpret this as a hopeful sign. He’s very eager to spend time with his Lord.</p><p class="western">“I greatly enjoy your music”, his Lord says and smiles.</p><p class="western">It is everything Lindir wanted to accomplish. He blushes. It is embarrassing, but when he’s in Elrond’s presence, his face lights up. “Thank you.” If he concentrates, he manages to avoid the title of his Lord in spoken conversation. His mind still supplies the honorific, his mouth just doesn’t utter it as often.</p><p class="western">“Many others do so, too.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods. So much praise. He isn’t used to it. “I am glad they are enjoying it”, he says, humble as he is.</p><p class="western">“<span>The changes you made are highly appreciated.” </span><span>There it is. A look of </span><span><span>high regard</span></span><span> in Lord Elrond’s eyes. All the appreciation Lindir needs to carry on.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>It is the least I could do. Have the members of the White Council made a decision regarding Dol Guldur?”, Lindir asks. It is very forward to ask about this, but he has a genuine interest. Most elves don’t know about why the council met the last time, Lindir does though. He also is interested, not only for his own sake.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>So far, no decision has been reached.” There’s a </span><span><span>shadow </span></span><span>of pain on Elrond’s face. “Galadriel also lost contact with Mithrandir not long ago.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>They are all communicating within their minds, this Lindir is aware of. Only the old and powerful are able to do so in this Age. The minstrel himself has been far too late to have such gifts. There aren’t many left with the talent, so most messages are sent by horse of raven in these times. </span>
  <span>A</span>
  <span>n</span>
  <span> elvish Lady of the First Age, loosing contact to their trusted friend is not good news.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>You are worried for him?”</span></p><p class="western">“Yes. He does this often, not communicating, but it’s disconcerting whenever he does so.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>Again, Lindir wishes he would be allowed to lighten his Lord’s burdens. He doesn’t necessarily know how to do so, but he w</span>
  <span>
    <span>ould want</span>
  </span>
  <span> to try. </span>
  <span>It is sad he will never get the chance to prove himself.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Celebrating the fact the draft of this story has now 20k+ words and is the longest ff I've ever written with the early release of this chapter. A bit more background story here.<br/>I hope you enjoy it :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Dol Guldur</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Things get bad in the next few days. When Lindir wakes up two days after his conversation with Elrond, the whole of Imladris is in hectic. Leaving his room, Lindir collides with Erestor. The adviser’s face speaks of desperation. It makes Lindir’s guts twist. Something that’s able to make this elf loose his nerves is never good.</p><p class="western">He is unable to get facts out of Erestor. The adviser just rambles on about stupid Lords and their decisions. It is not clear, if he speaks of Glorfindel or Elrond or both.</p><p class="western">Lindir just trails after Erestor for a while, getting closer to the source of the commotion.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The place in front of the main gate is filled with the most battle-hardened warriors and their horses. Among them are Elrond and Glorfindel. They are wearing their best armour. The one Elrond is wearing is shining golden in the sun. It is not the suit he wears when hunting orcs. Those would have been red and specifically made for combat on horse-back. If Lindir remembers correctly, the golden one is for close combat. Shivers run down his spine when he makes the connection. His Lord is riding out into battle. Not a hunt. Dangerous, he has Glorfindel at his side.</p><p class="western">Lindir does not want him to go.</p><p class="western">He hurries down the steps that separate him from the plateau. Once he’s down there, he feels out of his element. There are warriors all around him, wearing serious faces. He’s just the minstrel, who’s probably just standing in their way. Lindir forces those thoughts aside. No one has told him what exactly is going on and he is going to get some answers. The only one he knows well enough of the elves packing their things, is his Lord. So he has to go up to him and beg for words like a needy dog again. No time for his personal pride.</p><p class="western">“My Lord Elrond!”, he says loudly, over the sound of rustling and the clinking of metal on metal.</p><p class="western">Elrond turns around to him immediately. “Lindir!” He sounds relieved, though Lindir can’t discern why. He’s not bringing anything, not even news.</p><p class="western">“Where are you riding to, my Lord?” He hates the trembling of his voice.</p><p class="western">The situation must be dire, he doesn’t even get reprimanded for his slip of tongue. “Towards Dol Guldur, helping Mithrandir. I got word from Galadriel, he’s in danger.”</p><p class="western">Lindir is very aware there’s nothing he can say to change his Lord’s mind about going. So he settles for: “Please be careful. I do not want to loose you.”</p><p class="western">Shit. This sounded like a confession. It is a confession. He’s just revealed his secret. It’s going to end badly. The sad smile on Elrond’s face tells him his words have truly shown his heart.</p><p class="western">Unfortunately, the warriors are ready to leave by now. “I’m sorry, Lindir, I have to go. We will talk when I get back.” Then Elrond rides off and the minstrel is not sure if he will see him alive again. He manages to stay upright until the riders have left the valley and the sound of the hooves can not be heard any longer. Then he crumbles.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Somehow, Lindir manages to function. His Lord has left the hidden valley before, and in his absence, either his sons or Erestor take over the house. Elladan and Elrohir are still away, not to be reached, so the chief adviser is the one taking over the important duties. Lindir takes note of Erestor’s mood, which sinks further with every hour. By the evening of the first day, all sane elves avoid the adviser. He’s been silent at the delayed breakfast, not talking with anyone, barely eating. Lindir observed this from his seat, an uninviting bowl of food in front of himself. By midday, the councillor was shouting some guards into their positions, disturbing Lindir’s quiet refuge in a small corner, far away from prying eyes. After that, the word spread it to be wise not to cross Erestor’s path for the day. So Lindir does the exact opposite. He considers the other elf a confidante, maybe even a friend. He hopes not to get pierced by the sharp tongue of the adviser.</p><p class="western">“Lindir.” There’s an audible sigh of annoyance after the calling of his name. “What can I do for you?”</p><p class="western">“Mellon. I was about to ask the same.” Lindir tries to defuse the situation and closes the door for more privacy. “I think we are in a similar situation, worrying about beloved ones.”</p><p class="western">Erestor grits his teeth. “I do not think I can stand your particular brand of worship of Elrond right now.”</p><p class="western">This stings. Erestor’s sharp tongue is still very much in effect.</p><p class="western">“I was talking about your <span>worrying</span> about Lord Glorfindel.”</p><p class="western">“Why would I worry about him?” Erestor’s eyes are pressed into thin slits. Lindir feels like prey being stalked by a predator. Obviously they are still trying to hide it.</p><p class="western">Lindir decides on honesty. “Seeing as you are in a relationship with him, it is only natural.”</p><p class="western">“What do you know about that?”</p><p class="western">Another ambiguous question. Seriously, is no one ever trying to find clear wordings? “I worry for Lord Elrond, may it be one-sided. Your situation is not ideal, established as you are. Also, I saw you by accident, that night you spent in the garden on the bench.”</p><p class="western">Erestor sags into his seat, having lost a part of his caution. “I hope you understand why we wished to keep it quiet for a while.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods. <span>Their positions in Imladris are enough for rumour and talk to spread. He understands anyone who would want to avoid this. Also, there is still the matter of Glorfindel’s return to middle-earth.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>I trust you not to spread the word among the minstrels.”</span></p><p class="western">“I have kept quiet for the past weeks, as I do not particularly enjoy those talks myself.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you.”</p><p class="western">The office remains silent for a while. Lindir takes the opportunity to sit down on the chair in front of the desk. Both elves are in their own thoughts.</p><p class="western">“I wish he would not have ridden out”, Lindir confesses. “Orc hunts I can deal with, but this?”</p><p class="western">“Glorfindel talked about it like it was just an orc hunt”, Erestor says, tone low. “It isn’t.”</p><p class="western">“I worry about him being injured or not returning at all.” It doesn’t matter that they are talking about two different Lords, the sentiment is still the same.</p><p class="western">Erestor breathes out. “I try not to think about those possibilities, unsuccessfully.”</p><p class="western">“I can’t stop thinking about the what ifs.”</p><p class="western">“Me neither. Just as everything was going smoothly and me settling in, it goes all bad.” Erestor was obviously giving some insight on his new relationship and a part of Lindir’s mind embraced the trust shown to him.</p><p class="western">“I was getting my hopes up, now I pay the price.”</p><p class="western">Silence.</p><p class="western">“You should tell him. Maybe you hope isn’t in vain. It worked out for me.”</p><p class="western">Lindir let his eyes drop towards the floor. “I think he knows by now. The way I. Telling goodbye.” His voice cracked. “I hope for his return, but I fear his reaction to me. Afterwards, you know.”</p><p class="western">“He is Elrond. He won’t be cruel to you, if he doesn’t return your feelings. I once feared the same with Glorfindel.”</p><p class="western">“When did you tell him?”</p><p class="western">“Shortly before the dwarves arrived. He had to ride out with Elrond that day and I was a mess, for he had not been able to give me an answer yet. That’s why you were the one welcoming them.”</p><p class="western">“Thanks, I guess.”</p><p class="western">Erestor managed a smile, even if it was tinged by his worries still. “After, he came to my chambers, accepting the courtship.”</p><p class="western">“Courtship?” It was an ancient tradition, not practised by the younger generations. Basically, both elves would care for each other, test their compatibility, before announcing their relationship. Lindir was glad to not have destroyed their privacy by telling the inhabitants of Imladris of his observations.</p><p class="western">“We are both ancient, Glorfindel is from Gondolin, which was very traditional. Much of it is still ingrained in him and me. It is a matter of comfort.”</p><p class="western">It helped, directing the conversation to safer topics. Lindir was very curious to find out more about the old times. His studies of the First Age over the past few weeks awakened his interest in the old times.</p><p class="western">“Of what consists such a courtship? I confess, I am not very knowledgable about these matters.”</p><p class="western">“Much is different today. Elven culture shifts slowly, it does though. Many conversations, of how we imagine sharing a life would be. About intimacy, care, shared interests. Giving small gifts, getting bolder with touches. It did not take long for me and Glorfindel to arrive at the point we are now. We had the advantage of knowing each other for centuries.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nodded. It sounded all very sane. The pace was slower than modern relationships started out, between younger elves. Lindir could picture himself enjoying something like this. The intense focus on communication was daunting, but it came from a place of security and consent.</p><p class="western">A question, as forward as it was, came to his mind. “Would Elrond want a Courtship?”</p><p class="western">Erestor’s lips raised a bit. “Yes, it is very likely. He and Celebrian courted for years before they announced their relationship being official. Everyone knew already, but it was the way it was done.”</p><p class="western">“I’ve never met her. She must have been a wonderful women.” Lindir came some time after her sailing to Imladris, when the grief of her loss still overshadowed the Lord’s family.</p><p class="western">“She was. She never deserved what had been done to her.”</p><p class="western">Lindir knew of course in how high regard many elves still held the former Lady of Imladris. “You liked her a great deal.”</p><p class="western">“I did. She made great Lady.”</p><p class="western">“Do you resent me now, for loving Elrond?”</p><p class="western">Erestor swallowed. “Love is nothing to be ashamed of. Just understand, she will always have a place here and in our Lord’s heart. You won’t be usurping her place, should he return your feelings. You will make your own.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>It is a sound concept. Lindir has no wish to replace Celebrian’s place, not in his Lord’s heart, this would be cruel. The way Erestor accepts </span>
  <span>the possibility of him courting their Lord is astounding. “</span>
  <span>You are very wise, Erestor”, Lindir says in awe.</span>
</p><p class="western">“I was in the same position.” The councillor doesn’t elaborate further and Lindir doesn’t ask. This is far too private for him to be nosey about.</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>hey sit in silence for a few minutes after this, no spontaneous new topic coming up.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>When do you estimate they will be back?”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Erestor looks out of the window. “Soon, if it goes well.” There it is again, the </span>
  <span>
    <em>if </em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>in the sentence. Lindir would have wanted to hear that everything will work out, but the ones being left behind can only worry.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"><span><span>Erestor remains bad tempered for the next few days. Lindir can’t find it in him to try to better the mood, for he himself is feeling rather ill. Sleep hardly comes at night, instead he’s sitting on his balcony, strumming some old and tragic songs on his harp. This lasts for a while, until a friendly elf-maiden begs him to stop. Apparently he’s ruining her rest. So Lindir stops playing his music at night. </span></span><span><span>The performance he’s set up he has to deliver. Unfortunately for his guests, he’s not in the mood for happy songs, so he goes back on his promise to better everyone’s temper. </span></span><span><span>Over a few sessions,</span></span> <span><span>he performs the whole Noldolante, with all it’s verses written by Maglor over the centuries. </span></span><span><span>There aren’t many elves listening to this mournful piece, his sad face and posture driving them away. </span></span><span><span>The meals, except breakfast, he skips or takes alone. The other minstrels finding him hard to be around now, missing his happy demeanour. </span></span><span><span>They do not understand the shadow Lindir feels over himself.</span></span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lindir sits once again in Erestor’s office, when a breathless border patrol is entering their room without knocking. The chief councillor is already opening his mouth to reprimand the poor elf, when the guard beats him to it.</p><p class="western">“They are coming back!”</p><p class="western">There is no question about whom the guard is speaking of.</p><p class="western">“Where are they now?” Erestor is efficient.</p><p class="western">“They should be crossing the Bruinen as we speak!”</p><p class="western">“How many?”</p><p class="western">“All, but some are injured, not able to ride, being carried, I could not make out the faces though.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I did not really like the Dol Guldur scene in the movies. It is flashy, yes, but makes no sense to me. Lady Galadriel is no warrior and risking any Lord or Lady's life like that could have spelled disaster, so I rewrote it a bit.<br/>How do you feel about those scenes in the movie?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Return of Lord Elrond</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Erestor and Lindir are both at the door before the guard can blink, pushing the elf aside. The soldier stumbles a bit, but neither minstrel nor adviser care. Their worries are flaring up again. The patrol had spied the returning party from afar, but had brought no information on the condition of the warriors. Some injured, the only fact they new. No mention of the Lords Elrond and Glorfindel.</p><p class="western">Lindir is nearly running, <span>following</span> Erestor. The adviser just stops for some seconds to tell an elf-maiden to get the healers towards the plateau. She nods and hurries off.</p><p class="western">The two males make their way onwards. Lindir is keeping close to the adviser, for moral support. There is right now the possibility that one of their loved ones is grievously injured. An elf not being able to ride is a sure sign for this.</p><p class="western">The injured one isn’t Glorfindel. The golden hair of him is shining in the sun and Lindir sees the relief in Erestor’s posture. The minstrel looks around, frantically searching for the familiar form of his beloved Lord. He can’t find him and Glorfindel’s facial expression makes his belly drop. The healers are already swarming around the elf on the carrier.</p><p class="western">Erestor is at Glorfindel’s side now, Lindir next to them. The golden Lord looks ashen.</p><p class="western">“He went in there alone at first.”</p><p class="western">Lindir just turns away so no one can see the tears rising in his eyes. The healers part just right so he can see the face of his Lord, pale, the eyes closed, lying on the carrier like one of the dead. Then they carry him off to the Halls of Healing and Lindir is left behind.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The whole story get explained to him a few hours later. In the time between the return and now, the minstrel has made his way to the Halls of Healing and once the healers declared Elrond stable, he never left the side of him. Erestor came by to check on their Lord himself, finding Lindir, he relays the story Glorfindel told him.</p><p class="western">“Arriving at Dol Guldur, he insisted on going in with them, at the front. His stupid honour of fighting with his warriors in the front line.”</p><p class="western">Lindir knows the philosophy nearly all elven lords and kings follow. Lord Elrond once declared, he would not send his guards against a foe he would not dare to face himself. It is honourable, but also puts him in a lot of danger.</p><p class="western">“They got separated by the orcs. Lord Elrond managed to fight his way towards Mithrandir, getting helped by Saruman, but the rest of his warriors had to fight against the evil spawn. Galadriel had sent a group of her wardens, hiding them from the eyes of the Dark One with her powers. In the end, they managed the retreat with Mithrandir, but Lord Elrond got wounded by a poisoned sword. His leg.”</p><p class="western">This Lindir had already gathered from the talk of the healers. It left him worrying. Poison was tricky and elven healing took it’s time to counteract it.</p><p class="western">“Will he be alright?”</p><p class="western">“Probably. With poison, there’s no knowing, especially considering he’s peredhel. There’s a possibility it will have effects that last longer, but he should regain consciousness in the next few days.”</p><p class="western">Lindir feels like crying again, hearing this.</p><p class="western">Erestor touches his shoulder. “I have a task for you. I want you to watch over and care for Elrond. Once he’s awake, help him in every aspect he should need.”</p><p class="western">Lindir opens his eyes wide in shock. “Me? I am but a lowly minstrel!”</p><p class="western">“I can’t do it, I have to care for Imladris. He trusts you, so your task it will be.”</p><p class="western">Erestor’s voice prohibits discussion. Lindir nods. It is the kind of task he’s always wanted, but now he wishes the circumstances were different.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lindir learns a lot in the following days. The healers, who also have other patients, teach him some basics. Mainly on how to take care of someone. They manage to pry him away from the bed of his Lord by promising him knowledge. Lindir trails after them and learns how to give a sponge bath, how to help patients who can’t walk to the toilet and how to coax food into an unconscious elf. As long as their gag reflex is working, this isn’t a problem. He hates having to do this to his Lord, because it does not look comfortable, but a healing body needs nourishment.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His Lord awakes on the morn of the third day after his return. It is still early enough so Lindir is the only one at the bedside. He’s kept his promise to Erestor, never leaving Elrond for too long. He even slept on the floor next to the bed, if he’s able to find rest at all. At daytime, his mind is occupied, but at night, the worries eat at him.</p><p class="western">The first signs of the awakening are the intensifying of the breathing and fluttering eyelids. Lindir’s knees get weak, when he sees these motions. He takes the twitching hands of his Lord into his own.</p><p class="western">“My Lord. Elrond”, he says in a soft voice. No response awaits him, but the healers told him not to expect much. It is unlikely the first awakening will be a long one. The body is still fighting against the toxin. Lindir makes the decision to sing for his Lord. The music will tell his Lord of the safety he’s in and not in the hands of orcs. There’s no music in Mordor or Dol Guldur. Lindir picks a hopeful tune, full of promises. It is a song about the singer waiting for the return of his loved one.</p><p class="western">Lindir keeps singing for hours. He doesn’t realize his audience is growing. At first, his voice is only for Lord Elrond, filling the small room he’s lying in. But then, his tune carries over to the other patients and the healers. They keep stopping in the entrance to the room to listen.</p><p class="western">In the evening, one of the healers comes over, telling him it is time to bathe his Lord. They did it once, shortly after they brought <span>Elrond </span>to the halls, without Lindir. It will be the first time for Lindir to see his Lord completely bare. So far, he had been covered with a loose fitting robe keeping him warm. The injured leg is the only thing not hidden, because the bandages have to be redone twice a day. The wound Lindir has seen. An ugly gash, a very unhealthy colour. The healing has now begun that the poison is nearly defeated, the flesh knitting itself together, leaving a scar.</p><p class="western">Lindir fetches a sponge and a bucket with warm soap water. It is his task now to do this for Elrond. The healers are thankful he’s taking over some of the work, because they have many other patients. They told him not to get water onto the bandages or into the smaller wounds. The minstrel hopes their<span> (and Erestor’s) </span>trust in him is not misplaced.</p><p class="western">It is strange for him, to be undressing his Lord. So far, he imagined doing this under completely different circumstances, with more consent than the necessity. The loose robe is easy to get off. He already has a fresh one on the table on the side. He only has to manoeuvrer his Lord’s arms a bit. The skin underneath is pale, but not looking unhealthy any longer. There are many faint lines on Elrond’s torso. Lindir begins the sponge bath at the chest. He realizes those lines as what they are soon enough. Old scars. On elven skin, they fade over time, but do never vanish. The marks on his Lord’s body tell of his age and battles fought long ago. Lindir is careful with is touches. His Lord’s body is beautiful and he’s unworthy. He keeps the washing short, not wanting to take longer than appropriate. He has to fight against his desire to put every bit of skin into memory. His Lord does not awake during this, for which Lindir is grateful.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lindir derives no pleasure from seeing his Lord so unresponsive. Still, being allowed to touch is something he has long since dreamt about. He hates the situation, but he can do his best to promote change, namely helping his Lord recover. Elrond being hurt is his nightmare come true. Even factoring the elven healing in, it is unlikely for the Lord of Imladris to be fully recovered by the time the Mereth Aderthad will take place. Erestor’s estimations are rarely wrong, so Lindir believes him. Especially the wounded leg is cause for concern. Imladris is build in a valley and almost every steps there are stairs to consider.</p><p class="western">“I hope he will be able to walk without problems by the time the feast begins”, Erestor says. “His healing is remarkably, especially for a peredhel. But Lindir, I need you to stay close to him and help him wherever you can.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods, even if he doesn’t understand why Erestor is giving him this task. “Would a healer not be better suited?”</p><p class="western">Erestor smiles and shakes his head. “He’s the best healer around here. He should know what he has to do and not to do. Elrond will need somebody who knows his way around Imladris and who has knowledge of the paperwork, how to order it and where everything is stored. Also, he will accept you most easily, whereas other councillors or scribes sometimes just irritate him.”</p><p class="western">What is Lindir to do but nod? In his mind, he is already shuffling around his other duties, another minstrel should be able to take those over.</p><p class="western">Erestor smiles. “You will do just fine.”</p><p class="western">Lindir suspects Erestor to have a hidden goal in mind, but he can’t figure out what it is.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm sorry, but this is what happens when you fight. You get hurt. Elven Lords are no exception.<br/>I  hope you are okay with this short military report of what happens at Dol Guldur. I could not write it completly, because I am keeping to Lindir's perspective, who remained safe in Imladris.<br/>On another note, I am getting close on finishing this work. It will have around 20 chapters, 15 of which are already written, waiting for revision.<br/>Enjoy</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Awakening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Elrond regains full consciousness by the time the sun is highest in the sky on the next day. Lindir has been at his side for the whole morning already, caring for his Lord as it is his new duty and heart’s desire. The healers have already changed the bandages on the leg, saying the poison is most likely defeated. They advised Lindir to be prepared for the awakening.</p><p class="western">Lindir is not prepared, even though he’s had hours. When Elrond opens his eyes again, slowly taking in his surroundings, the minstrel basically throws himself at his Lord. It is a shameful action. He should not have done it, but now he is hovering directly over Elrond’s body.</p><p class="western">“My Lord!”, he exclaims, his voice shrill to his own ears.</p><p class="western">Elrond looks in his face and relaxes. “Lindir.” It is a greeting, laced with relief. “What happened?”</p><p class="western">Lindir realizes his Lord hasn’t been awake for a long time, <span>having lost</span> consciousness on the way back from Dol Guldur.</p><p class="western">“Lord Glorfindel brought you back to Imladris, roughly a week ago. The weapon which struck your leg was poisoned. The healers here in the Halls of Healing helped you back to health.” It is the most basic of reports, but it includes the most important details, like place and time. It excludes Lindir’s involvement, which is just fine.</p><p class="western">“Can I do something for you?”, Lindir asks, avoiding the title again.</p><p class="western">“Can you bring me some water please?”</p><p class="western">The minstrel nods and hurries away to get the requested liquid.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Two days later, Elrond is able to move back to his private chambers. Lindir is there at his side, when they make the journey across Imladris. His Lord is still a bit unsure on his feet. The fresh scar and the bandages are hindering his movement. Lindir offers his arm as a place to hold on and Elrond accepts it thankfully. Together they climb up the stairs to the family wing of the main building.</p><p class="western">On the way, many elves cross their way and stop to make some small talk. Many are glad of the good recovery of their Lord. Elrond dismisses them fairly quickly, which shows Lindir how uncomfortable his Lord is. It is not weakness, he knows. It is the pain radiating from the wound. Elrond refused to take too much of the herbs which would suppress it. Lindir is no healer, but so much he can guess.</p><p class="western">Once they are in the family wing, the number of curious elves decreases. Only Arwen awaits them, her brothers being distracted by Glorfindels elsewhere. She looks radiant as ever, standing in the hallway, waiting for her father. If Lindir would not have been his Lord’s help, he would have bowed before her. It doesn’t matter anyway, because her concentration is fixed on her father.</p><p class="western">“Ada!”, she cries out and hurries over. Lindir let’s her take over his place. He leaves Elrond in the care of his daughter. He promises himself to come back later, to check on his Lord, as Erestor requested days ago.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Arwen is in the hallway again when he comes back. This time, she is without her father. She sits on one of the window sills, reading a book. She must be waiting for someone, because otherwise she would be in her room. Lindir knows she once requested special furniture for her favourite reading spot. Her being in the hallway means there’s something on her mind. Lindir approaches her carefully.</p><p class="western">“My Lady Arwen”, he greets her. This time he does bow a bit.</p><p class="western">She closes her book, carefully putting a bookmark between the pages. “Lindir”, she says. “I have been waiting for your return.”</p><p class="western">Lindir’s stomach drops. He hopes she won’t forbid him to see after her father. Her word would overrule Erestor’s. “You have, My Lady?” His voice is wavering.</p><p class="western">She smiles that radiant smile of hers. “Yes, dear Lindir.”</p><p class="western">“Why, My Lady?”</p><p class="western">“I wanted to thank you.”</p><p class="western">“Thank me?”, Lindir stammers out. He’s aware he’s making a fool of himself, as it happens so often nowadays.</p><p class="western">“For taking care of my ada.”</p><p class="western">“It was my pleasure My Lady.”</p><p class="western">Her face is openly showing appreciation. “Could I ask you to keep caring for him? You could be his personal assistant.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods. “Of course, My Lady.” Again, the question <em>why</em> arises in him, but he is not about to ask her.</p><p class="western">“Thank you”, she looks sheepish. Then she starts an explanation. “There are task I would not want to do myself, for they would be very awkward”, she explains. “And my brothers are very unsuited to do anything having to do with healing and assistance.”</p><p class="western">“Of course, I understand.” Which is a lie. From her words, he can’t guess what she is talking about. Maybe he should ask for clarification?</p><p class="western">“I made you a list”, she says, holding out a carefully wrapped scroll. “Also, don’t tell him I gave you instructions!”</p><p class="western">Then she is off to her own rooms and Lindir is left in the hallway again, his mouth hanging open. All of Imladris must be conspiring to make him suffer, by placing him at his Lord’s side.</p><p class="western">He sits himself down in the same corner Arwen occupied only minutes prior. He cracks open her seal and starts to read the scroll. It is written in her neat handwriting. She asks him to be at Elrond’s side, when he wants to work again, helping him bathe (Ah, this is the part she probably felt uncomfortable about) and to make him tea. She even wrote down how the beverage should be prepared. Her requests are not very different from Erestor’s, only a bit more specified. Lindir thinks he can do it. He already bathed his Lord thrice by now, he should be fine.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It isn’t fine. Now, Elrond is awake for the process. At first, he protests and doesn’t want to accept Lindir’s help. The minstrel has to swallow hard.</p><p class="western">“I want to help you.”</p><p class="western">“This should not be your task.”</p><p class="western">At last, after Lindir confirmes being tasked by Erestor and Arwen, Elrond gives in. The elven lord even admits being grateful for it being Lindir and not someone else. <span>The minstrel blushes at that. </span><span>Then he watches helplessly as his Lord sheds his robes. </span><span>Lindir goes and fetches a sponge, towels and soap, just to clear his mind. </span><span>When he returns, he kneels down beside his Lord and starts washing the ellon’s feet. </span><span>It feels so intimate, to do this for his Lord, even if his task is only to wash the lower part of Elrond’s body. The upper half, his Lord can reach himself, it is bending downwards that troubles him the most.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>I</span>
  <span>t does not take long for Lindir to finish his task. He towels off the remaining water on Elrond’s skin and asks: “Is it alright?”</span>
</p><p class="western">His Lord smiles. This time not pained or with a twinge of guilt. “Yes, my dear Lindir. You did well.”</p><p class="western">The praise warms Lindir from the inside. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”</p><p class="western">“Actually, would you mind washing my back too? As long as my leg is still healing, I won’t be able to take a bath and…”</p><p class="western">
  <span>“Of course!” Lindir rises from the floor, </span>
  <span>with help of his Lord.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>It goes on like this for the next week. Lindir is almost constantly at Elrond’s side, following the Lord throughout the day. He still meets up with the other minstrels and Erestor, but he keeps those to a bare minimum. Even with the feast taking place only a week from know, he can’t be persuaded </span>
  <span>to leave. There are no other decisions concerning the Mereth Aderthad he has to make. The minstrels know which pieces are required of them and how to play them. Checking in on them is not necessary. The one he delegated those tasks to is perfectly capable of standing in for Lindir. He himself practices once night has fallen, alone in his quarters. After Elrond is in bed and Lindir is not needed. One night, Erestor catches him during his midnight session, asking him to not run himself into the ground. Lindir just waves the concerns away. He is tired, but he won’t disappoint.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>A</span>
  <span>t least, his Lord is not disappointed. He tells Lindir so the next day, during which the minstrel helps him in the office, sorting through the correspondences with the other realms and settlements.</span>
</p><p class="western">“I am glad to be of assistance.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you, Lindir. Without you, this would be a wholly exhausting affair.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>There are other sorrows, which his Lord does not tell him about. Lindir knows how much Elrond has seen in his life and his trust is not given easily. For some elves, it is hard to imagine the Lord of Imladris being distrustful, seeing that Imladris is open to visitors from almost all places. There is big difference however, between trust and being polite. Elrond is the latter to those coming in from afar. No person staying for a short while is able to gain his trust. Humans are very unlikely to gain it. </span>
  <span>Their lives are short and their minds change easily. Even an elf is unlikely to ever get close.</span>
</p><p class="western">“There is something troubling you, Elrond.” Lindir manages to speak the name without his voice trembling.</p><p class="western">He looks into his direction and then towards the windows. “The Mereth Aderthad. It is so soon.”</p><p class="western">His Lord does not elaborate further and Lindir does not pressure for more. Instead he starts talking about his own preparations for the feast. He tells Elrond of the song he’s mostly finished composing during his nightly sessions, the one requested. He sings the first verse for his Lord, but not more, to not spoil the evening. He speaks proudly of the preparations the other minstrels are doing.</p><p class="western">
  <span>“Through Lady Galadriel’s informations, Erestor and I have been able to schedule the night of the feast in the way the first was celebrated. </span>
  <span>The guests we were able to reach, who were present at Fingolfin’s feast and are still alive today, have assured us of their coming. It will be a good chance to unite the elven realms further against the Dark </span>
  <span>One</span>
  <span>, seeing he has risen again.”</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>“</span>
  <span>You did well, Lindir.” Elrond sounds sad. “I could not have done better.”</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>“Then w</span>
  <span>hy are you sad?”</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Elrond sighs. “A tale for another day. </span>
  <span>Now there’s more work to do.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading xD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Day Before</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The day before the Mereth Aderthad is filled with chaos. As soon as Lindir is awake, he senses it. The whole of Imladris has been alive with preparations for a few days now, but today, the first guests will arrive. The group from Lothlorien is awaited by midday. Lindir is not sure if he is glad to see the Lady of the Golden Wood again. He’s still a bit confused by her behaviour towards him. Otherwise, he is happy to see some of the elves who follow her again. Through several meetings over the last century, he’s gotten friendly with a group of her wardens.</p><p class="western">Lindir checks on Elrond first, but can’t find him. The usual seating arrangements in the main hall for the meals haven been suspended. They had to add additional tables for the visitors, destroying the order. Also, breakfast is now as loose as dinner is. Erestor and Glorfindel are there, talking animately amongst themselves. Lindir decides not to disturb them. He takes a bowl for himself and prepares for the day. He <span>has</span> to oversee the building of the stage today. It is his usual task, when a feast is prepared. His Lord asked him the evening before to not delegate this task away. Elrond’s arguments were sound. The elven lord is by now able to go his ways alone again, the wound having finally healed, only soreness remaining.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">After breakfast, Lindir has to check on the other minstrels again, going over their plans for the Mereth Aderthad a last time. Thankfully, they are all mostly in agreement towards the order of their performances and breaks. The one Lindir had given his tasks to reports of the general success of the rehearsals.</p><p class="western">When Lindir returns to the main hall, the building of the stage is already in progress. Generally, the musical performances are given in a much smaller room, but for a feast like this, they are prepared. The carpenters built a stage long ago, which can be stored in single pieces, perfectly designed to fit into the main hall. It gets assembled for feast like this. It is not a hard task, but still, Lindir is required to watch and help the other elves. Some of them have never done this before, so his knowledge as head minstrel is required.</p><p class="western">It does not take long until the wooden structure is standing in it’s assigned corner. Still, the white painted wood looks dull compared to the ornaments and murals decorating every piece of the Last Homely House. Decorating it is Lindir’s true task. Usually, he borrows some fine fabrics from the tailors, so he starts making his way to them.</p><p class="western">His way leads him trough the gardens. They are in full bloom, the gardeners having outdone themselves for the occasion. The flower beds are meticulously cleaned of every last bit of weed, the plants shaped into perfection. The whole of Imladris, it seems, is making an effort and it shows.</p><p class="western">Among the plants is Elrond, looking at ease in his garden. The Lord of Imladris is obviously taking a break. It will probably be the last one he gets before the feast is over. Lindir debates with himself if he should interrupt him or not. The choice is taken from him when Elrond beckons him over.</p><p class="western">“Ah, Lindir”, he greets. “Is your morning going well?”</p><p class="western">Lindir goes over. As usual, he walks slowly next to Elrond’s left side. “Yes. The stage is built up. I am currently on my way to the tailors, to see if they have some fabrics I can use for the decoration. I trust your morning has been going well too?”</p><p class="western">“So far, yes. Walk with me for a bit?”</p><p class="western">The minstrel nods. Together they make their way into the direction he needs to go.</p><p class="western">“What colour scheme are you imagining for the stage?”, Elrond asks, genuine interest in his eyes.</p><p class="western">“I am hoping for blue and gold, maybe a bit of silver. Those colours have been associated with the House of Fingolfin and all it’s descendants. He was the one initiating the first Mereth Aderthad, so I wanted to pay homage to his sigil.” Also, Lindir hopes his Lord will wear the stunning blueish robe again he saw him wearing at the last meeting of the White Council. “It depends on weather the tailors have fabrics in these colours.”</p><p class="western">“Clever thinking. These are also colours many elves request, so you can be sure to find something suitable”, Elrond assures him.</p><p class="western">“I am trying to be faithful to the feast’s origins”, Lindir explains. Since Elrond asked him to help with the preparations, his research finally paid off.</p><p class="western">Elrond smiles. “It shows. Erestor and I think you should be more involved in the planning of future events, if this is to your liking?”</p><p class="western">“I would be honoured.”</p><p class="western">“I have another suggestion”, Elrond says. He walks a few steps over to a rose bush with white flowers. He breaks off a single stem. “Why don’t you use some flowers from these gardens to decorate the stage?” He holds out the flower, offering it to Lindir.</p><p class="western">The minstrel nearly stumbles over his feet. A white rose for him? Is his Lord aware of their symbolism? He takes the flower. “Thank you”, he manages to say. “The flowers will be like stars, when I pin them to dark blue fabric.” Why is he saying this? Ruining the moment!</p><p class="western">Lindir fumbles with the flower, until Elrond offers his help. He pins the flower into one of the buttons of Lindir’s robes. “Here, the you go.” His face is so close, Lindir could kiss him.</p><p class="western">“Lord Elrond!” The ellon approaching him could just have thrown a bucket of cold water onto Lindir’s head. He pulls back.</p><p class="western">On Elrond’s face, there is a brief moment of sadness again, before he turns towards the disturbance.</p><p class="western">“The guest from Lothlorien are crossing the Bruinen and will arrive shortly!”</p><p class="western">Elrond nods and turns back to Lindir. “I am sorry, I have to go and welcome them.”</p><p class="western">Lindir understands and is glad, for he would surely have made a fool of himself. He heads off towards the tailors. The stage isn’t ready yet and he has to finish it as soon as possible. The guests from Lothlorien won’t expect much until the next day, when the feast begins, but Lindir needs this task to be done. Tomorrow he’ll be responsible for more important things and won’t have the time to spare.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Surprisingly, everything goes smoothly. The tailors already expected his visit and were ready to assist him. They found him some nice fabrics in royal blue, with golden stitching. Lindir is expected to not rip them to pieces, of course, because they will one day become clothing. Then he went to the garden to get flowers. He went back on his decision to add them like stars onto the fabric. Instead, Lindir chooses some small vases and places them around the stage. The whole picture the stage presents is very lovely. The flowers he chose are mostly white, but in between he added some in a light blue colour. He hopes the visiting elves will appreciate his efforts.</p><p class="western">He then takes part in the welcoming meal for their guests. The elves from Lothlorien are tired and hungry. After the meal, they will be assigned some quarters. Erestor already made the arrangements a week or so earlier. Imladris does not have enough single rooms, so many offered bunks in their own lodgements. Lindir, too, agreed to take in some visitors. He’s been assigned the two marchwarden brothers he is already friends with.</p><p class="western">Orophin and Rumil are glad to see Lindir. They haven’t seen each other in far too long, with the roads getting more dangerous recently and orcs near Lothlorien. Especially Lindir hasn’t left Imladris for many years. Anyhow, they fall back into their easy friendship, as the minstrel shows them to his humble rooms.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Some time later, Lindir has to excuse himself. Even if Elrond is not in the need of constant help any longer, the minstrel likes to check in on him. Just in case. It is a bit self-indulgent, but he’s tired of struggling against his heart. Luckily he doesn’t have to search. His Lord is already in his quarters, the guards are used to him passing by now. He finds Elrond in the same strange mood he’s witnessed several times over the past few weeks. Every time, he wants to press for answers, but stops himself. Today, it is the Lord of Imladris, who begins their conversation.</p><p class="western">“Did you know, I’ve been raised by Maglor Feanorion for a part of my youth?”</p><p class="western">Lindir stops dead in his tracks. He sits down beside Elrond with a thump. “Truly?”, he asks.</p><p class="western">“Truly. He and Maedhros more or less kidnapped me and my brother after parents by blood deemed a simaril more important than their children.”</p><p class="western">“Kidnapped you?” It sounds horrible, being taken away by the infamous kinslayers. It doesn’t explain the melancholy and bitter humour in Elrond’s voice however.</p><p class="western">“Surely you read about their oath. They were compelled, forced to go after the simaril my mother held. Maedhros once explained to me, their minds were so driven by the oath, they could not stop at Sirion, before the stone was out of their reach. At which point, they found Elros and me, taking us with them.”</p><p class="western">Lindir is confused. This is already too much information to process. He has questions though. “Why not leave you there?”</p><p class="western">“Maedhros probably felt still guilty for what happened to my uncles. And Maglor was – is very kind and compassionate, when not under the influence of his father’s oath. He convinced his brother to raise us. We remained with them until they gave us to Gil-Galad.”</p><p class="western">“Sent you away?”</p><p class="western">“For protection. They did not say good-bye. I was, still am furious, for I loved them like family.”</p><p class="western">Lindir remains quiet for a moment. “Does anybody else now?” There are no words about Elrond’s history in the books he read. The past of his Lord, between the havens of Sirion and his duty beneath High King Gil-Galad, had been a mystery for Lindir so far.</p><p class="western">“My extended family. Now you. My close relation with the last two sons of Feanor was a potential political problem, so Gil-Galad decided to keep it out of the books, so to speak.”</p><p class="western">“You are missing Maglor.” It is not a question. Lindir can see it in Elrond’s eyes. It is the longing he’s seen in so many elves who lost loved ones before.</p><p class="western">“With the Mereth Aderthad approaching, I thought more often about them. I would give a lot to see Maglor tomorrow here, but all my searches in this age were fruitless. I can not find him, I only know he’s still alive.”</p><p class="western">Lindir can’t do much about that. He never thought about actively searching for the other minstrel, but if he believes Elrond, it would have been for nought anyway. The only thing he can do, is listen to Elrond and not judge his Lord, which is easy. Lindir does have no grief with the old elves, he’s too young to have seen the wars of the First Age.</p><p class="western">“What do you remember about Maglor?”</p><p class="western">“His kindness. He was the first one who taught me the art of healing. Ever gentle. He would sing me and Elros to sleep, we asked him to do so very often. He had no love for the sword, knew how to swing one, but not to teach us. He shielded us, when Maedhros had a bad episode. He was not in a good place, had not been in one since the Fifth Battle.”</p><p class="western">“Shielded you?”</p><p class="western">“Emotionally. Maedhros never got violent towards us. His screams woke us often during the night, leaving him angry or moody for days afterwards. In his dreams, he relived his past, Thangorodrim, the loss of Fingon. <span>I think, in the end, it was too much to bear for him. </span><span>I sometimes hope the Valar had mercy on him, but I am probably the only one </span><span>who has.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>L</span>
  <span>indir swallows. He knows how the Oath was worded, what would wait for the ones dying during the quest. He hopes for Elrond, that Namo granted the Feanorions mercy. </span>
  <span>He tells his Lord so. “It is not my place to judge them. May the Valar be just.”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Thank you Lindir”, Elrond whispers. Then he leans on the minstrels shoulder. “</span><span>Thank you for listening.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>H</span>
  <span>is Lord falls asleep on his shoulder. Lindir carries him to the bed, placing a kiss on Elrond’s forehead. “I wish you could meet them again one day.” </span>
  <span>Then he leaves and goes back to his own rooms. The two Lothlorien guests are already asleep on their mats.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is one of the longer chapters, I hope you liked it.<br/>Also: Spoilers - There's drama ahead</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Mereth Aderthad - The Feast of Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">With the first rays of the morning sun, the guest coming from the grey havens approached Imladris. They did not leave their city that often, for the sea-longing was strong in them and many were planning to set sail in the near future. It was their Lord Cirdan’s wish they followed, coming to the renewed Mereth Aderthad. The old shipwright had seen the first feast and was very inclined to take part in it’s revival. At least that is what his letter of said, in which he accepted the invitation. Lindir knew this, because he had read the message himself, in the time he had spent helping Elrond.</p><p class="western">With those guest finally here, the feast would soon begin. As soon as the sun reached it’s highest point, Lindir would start playing his harp, as a sign that the celebration had begun. Only a few minutes separated him from this crucial point. He had hardly slept in the previous night, making a final change to his new song, composed at Lord Elrond’s behest. These last few lines weren’t approved so far, but Lindir wants to play them at the night’s conclusion.</p><p class="western">The main hall of Imladris is crowded. Nearly every seat is filled by now, with the inhabitants of Imladris and all the guests. Lord Elrond is sitting in a throne like chair, Lady Galadriel and her husband Celeborn to his right, Lord Cirdan to his left, the twins further down. Their seating is raised, so they have a view of the whole room. At their table, the other elves of nobility or rank and their partners reside, such as Glorfindel and Erestor, as well as the current High Marchwarden of Lothlorien.</p><p class="western">Lindir breathes in deeply and enters the stage. It is his duty to announce the beginning of the festivities and lead through the evening’s program as the master of ceremony. During the first Mereth Aderthad, that honour had belonged to Fingon, the King’s eldest son, but both of Elrond’s sons had refused the task. This is why it fell to Lindir, who feels now like a fish out of water. His view once again lingers on Elrond. The elven lord notices him and nods slightly. It is time to begin. Lindir enters the stage, his harp in hand and begins to play.</p><p class="western">Immediately, silence falls over the room. All eyes are now on Lindir. He manages to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. Fortunately, he’s used to playing before a larger audience, something that comes with being the leading minstrel in Imladris. Still, the silence is welcome. During his performances for the inhabitants of the hidden valley, there is hushed conversation in the audience. Now, only breathing can be heard. The piece he’s playing is taking some chords of the Noldolante, but it’s faster and more happy. Still, most elves should be able to recognize it and connect it to times long past. Halfway through, two other minstrels start pounding out a slow rhythm on deep drums, giving the audience the impression of a heartbeat. The music achieves the desired effect. Some elves start so sway slightly with the tunes.</p><p class="western">When the music ends, all the elves in the audience show their silent appreciation. Humans would have clapped, but elves prefer not to disturb the last tunes in the air, turning their heads in a polite nod a bit down, keeping the eyes on the minstrel. Lindir’s fingers are burning, but he stands up and bows a bit. He lifts his head up and begins speaking to all the guests.</p><p class="western">“Welcome to Imladris, for this Feast of Reunion. As the times are getting darker and the time of our kin on these shores draws to an end, the bond we share is more important than ever before. To celebrate it and our connections to the past, we are gathered here in peaceful union. Let this day be one to be remembered as we remember.” The words leave his mouth with practised ease. No one needs to know about the hours Lindir spent trying to learn them. They were written by Elrond and Erestor, without Lindir giving much input. Apparently the older elves did good in wording them, because most guest show their appreciation by whispering their greetings. With this, Lindirs first small speech is done and he leaves the stage.</p><p class="western">Elrond rises from his seat. He is indeed wearing the robe Lindir so admires on his body. Now that the Lord is standing, the minstrel can look as much as he wants. The words spoken do not reach his ear, so occupied is his mind in observing his beloved, while he still can.</p><p class="western">
  <span>Much too soon, Elrond sits down again and two young minstrels take the stage, playing quiet tunes on their instruments. At the same time, dinner is brought in by the elves responsible for the kitchens. Much has been prepared beforehand, except for the warm meals. </span>
  <span>There are bowls filled with different salads, from the simple green variant, to the more colourful variations with tomatoes and such. On big plates, fish is getting served, brought as gift from the elves of the havens. From Lothlorien, there is </span>
  <span>mostly meat. Surprisingly, the Greenwood sent them wine, even without them attending. Lindir is glad to realize that relations with king Thranduil’s realm are still salvageable.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>he eating part of the feast goes over without problems. No disturbance arises and the minstrels on the stage change regularly. There are no songs song, only instrumental pieces, with the intention of not disturbing the conversations between the elves sitting at the tables. Lindir himself has a seat reserved for himself near the stage, together with the other minstrels. Erestor had offered him a place on the high table, but Lindir had refused. </span>
  <span>Out of respect for the privacy of the Lords and Ladies, should they wish to discuss something without curious ears listening in. It was just polite, his refusal. Also he needs to focus on his task as the one leading through the day and night.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>O</span>
  <span>nce the dirty cutlery is removed from the tables and only refreshments and fruits are still on the tables, Lindir takes the stage again. He gives a small overview of the planned performances In the main hall, there will be music and speeches. The main event of the night is a bonfire in the courtyard, </span>
  <span>underneath the stars. It will be the official end for this day. </span>
  <span>There are other p</span>
  <span>laces open for the guests to visit should they not want to stay in the main hall. The gardens and the path to the Bruinen have been opened for the visitors, should they wish to walk around Imladris. </span>
  <span>No one is forced to stay in the crowded main hall after the leaders of the different realms have given their speeches. In some smaller halls, aspiring poets and minstrels will have the chance to perform their own pieces, should they wish to. It was one of the scholars, who had insisted on opening a hall for creative exchange and Elrond had agreed. </span>
  <span>Lindir won’t be able to witness these small performances, a fact he regrets, but his place is in the main hall.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>I</span>
  <span>t is Lord Celeborn, who gives the first speech after the meal. Lady Galadriel’s reluctance to take the spot for herself surprises Lindir. It shows however, that they both wrote the words together. It is less a speech and more a performance. Lord Celeborn begins with words of his long sunken home of Doriath, a once great kingdom in Beleriand. Of the mistakes their king made, not forming a firm alliance with their kin and falling because of greed in the end. </span>
  <span>At that point, Galadriel rises, joining her husband, grabbing his hand. “Let us not repeat the mistakes of our past and stand together against the evil once more, </span>
  <span>and reach out to those who need help.”</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>here is much agreement to her words.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Later, when it is Cirdan’s turn to speak up, the old shipwright uses a similar tone. He relays his memories of the days of old, remembering a happy feast, despite the recent (in elven years) change in the monarchy and the doom above all the attendants. “We are not cursed or exiled any more. We are not doomed to fail and die. Remember this, there is hope </span>
  <span>and a place for us.”</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>S</span>
  <span>ome hours later, Lindir is taking a break near the hallway. He’s spent a good portion of the evening singing and playing his harp. </span>
  <span>He’s in desperate need for some fresh air. The sun is setting by now, he can see it through the arches of the windows. Soon, the stars will rise. Next to him, the High Marchwarden of Lothlorien is resting. The elf seems to have gotten a bit too much of the Greenwood wine and is in a melancholy mood. They’ve talked for a bit, about the stars and what a shame Thranduil’s cancellation is, not even sending the young prince. Lindir nearly laughs. The other elf, Haldir, is clearly stricken with a bad case of infatuation </span>
  <span>(it may be a crush, on the Greenwood prince, nonetheless)</span>
  <span>. There is really no advice the minstrel can give him. </span>
  <span>Well, except keeping away from the wine for the rest of the night. </span>
  <span>Before the stoic marchwarden can say something curt in answer, Cirdan approaches Lindir with a careful smile. </span>
  <span>Maybe he and Haldir can finish their talk some other time.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>I head you were the one responsible for much of the program tonight”, the shipwright says.</span></p><p class="western">Lindir bows. “This is an exaggeration, my Lord. There were many elves giving input, I merely ordered their ideas and researched the origins of the Mereth Aderthad.”</p><p class="western">“Credit where credit is due. Your performances so far have been extraordinary.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you for recognizing a lowly minstrel such as myself.”</p><p class="western">“<span>Lowly I think not. You have talent. Hence why I have a proposition for you.”</span></p><p class="western">“My Lord?”</p><p class="western">“Many of my kin have not been able to accompany myself to Imladris. They enjoy music very much. Would you like to come to the havens to perform? You could depart with us after the Mereth Aderthad is over.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>he proposal sounds fine. Lindir hasn’t been to the havens in the last century and he kind of wants to see it before he will sail. Still, it would mean leaving Imladris. Even if it is only for a while, he’s uneasy at leaving his feelings behind. “I will think about it”, he promises. “You will receive my answer in time.”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>This is already more than I can ask for.”</span></p><p class="western">“Do you think it possible for me to collaborate with some of your musicians? Many of my compositions require more instruments than my harp alone.”</p><p class="western">“I am sure they will be delighted.”</p><p class="western">“<span>Thank you, My Lord. </span><span>However, It will be hard for me to leave Imladris behind.”</span></p><p class="western">“Is it just the valley or…?” Cirdan lets his sentence hang in the air. “Think about your decision carefully, I won’t want you to do something that isn’t in your best interest.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>S</span>
  <span>omehow, Lindir thinks he hates getting nudged into a certain direction by the Lords and Ladies of the elven realms. </span>
  <span>He swallows his ire and answers carefully. “I will give it as much consideration as is needed.” Then he excuses himself, because it is his turn again to take the stage. Somehow he hasn’t gotten the air he had wanted to get.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>First part of the Mereth Aderthad as I imagined it.<br/>Hopefully you enjoyed it so far. Next chapter, drama will pick up.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Flames, Stars and Decisions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>After last week's awesome comments, I rewrote this whole chapter, to include more of what happens at the Mereth Aderthad. It's now twice the length of the original draft. Also, I am finally able to include the ë's without raging.<br/>Also there's the drama.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Lindir tries to get a refreshment after the set he’s just finished. By now, the stars are shining and the whole feast has gotten a more informal affair. All the speeches by the rulers of the realms are over. Currently, there are songs being played for dancing, some pairs using the free space between the tables to twirl gracefully around. Among them is the ruling pair of Lothlorien. Galadriel is wearing a long white dress, as she does often. This time, it has some beautiful green embroidery on it. The leaves and branches out of yarn encircle her body in elegant swirls. Her husband Celeborn's robe is adorned with similar markings. They make a stunning pair. It is clear they share a passion for dancing.</p><p class="western">The longer Lindir watches, the more pairs join the merry dancing in the room. The minstrels he had selected to play the pieces are also having fun. All in all, Lindir considers this part of the celebration a success. The guests are fed and entertained. Imladris once again lives up to it's reputation.</p><p class="western">A small commotion on the verge of the dance floor gathers Lindir's attention.</p><p class="western">The familiar voice of Erestor curses: “No, Glorfindel, I won't..”</p><p class="western">But the Lord of the Golden Flower ignores the protests and pulls the chief adviser into an embrace. Lindir cringes at Erestor's thunderous expression. How Glorfindel does not pull back in fear is beyond him. But soon, the adviser relaxes and Lindir can even see him smile a bit into the other's golden locks. Lindir turns away. He has seen enough. His throat is also distinctly craving for a refreshment. Luckily, there is a table with some carafes of water and wine nearby. He makes his way over there.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Once Lindir has gotten himself a glass of clear water, he makes his way out of the main hall, towards the gardens. On his path, he has to help a confused elven lady to find her way and point another towards the toilets. Really, they should either know the layout of Imladris by now, or just follow the written signs. Their inability to do so leaves only one conclusion: The wine at the Mereth Aderthad must be of a good vintage. Lindir has not tasted it so far, but the state of some guests suggests it. This gift of the Woodland realm has certainly been well received.</p><p class="western">His next and last performance will be also the last one of the evening, when the bonfire is lit. He’s already anxious about it, for the small liberties he’s taken with the text of the song.</p><p class="western">The garden is mostly empty. Apparently most guest chose to venture out towards the Bruinen, if they chose to leave the main hall at all. From over there, music, conversation and laughter are still to be heard. In search for a secluded spot, the minstrel comes by a small balcony. From the elevated place, he has a view over the lands that lie a bit outside of the main stucture of Imladris. There are smaller fires lit, signifying the presence of the elves that chose to make their way to the river.</p><p class="western">Lindir is grateful for the solitude in the garden, it gives him an opportunity to let his professional façade drop. He’s already exhausted, with the short night he’s had it’s no wonder. He sits down in the dry dirt beneath one of the bushes, in the shadows. He does not care if his robes get a bit dirty. The dust will be easily enough brushed off. When his hand touches the plant, he finds out it is a rose. In fact, it is the white one Elrond gave him a blossom of. It is a memory Lindir still cherishes. He lets his mind drift off for a while.</p><p class="western">He still has the glass of water with him. He shifts it around in his hands. It has a fine crystalline structure on the outside and Lindir lets his fingers feel over the ridges and edges. He takes another sip while enjoying the cool breeze drifting up from the Bruinen. He closes his eyes for a bit, in the hopes of gaining a few minutes of rest.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Apparently, some </span>
  <span>of the</span>
  <span> Vala</span>
  <span>r</span>
  <span> do not want him to get rest. </span>
  <span>For</span>
  <span> the second time that night </span>
  <span>Lindir'</span>
  <span>s much needed rest is disturbed when two figures come walking down the path between the roses. </span>
  <span>They are conversing quietly, not noticing Lindir. </span>
  <span>He hopes these two are going to pass by him. Lindir does not want to explain to some inebriated elves why he is sitting in the dark underneath a bush instead of celebrating. It would be even worse if it would be someone he knows. </span>
  <span>Lindir freezes to avoid detection. He feels awful for doing so. If someone finds him now, there is no way his self-esteem will survive it.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>The figures draw closer and now Lindir can hear them far more clearly. </span>
  <span>To the minstrel’s shock, he knows both of them. Elrond and Cirdan are coming his way. Lindir ducks himself further into the bushes. He just wants a bit of p</span>
  <span>eace</span>
  <span> and quiet for his mind, nerves an</span>
  <span>d</span>
  <span> heart. </span>
  <span>It is clear he won't get it. So he is quiet and listens in to the conversation the two lords are having.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>He’s been heard near the havens again, Elrond.” </span><span>Cirdan is keeping his voice low on purpose. It must be a sensitive topic then, not for everyone's ears. Lindir already feels bad and this makes it worse.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>By whom?” </span><span>Elrond sounds very curious, but there is another emotion swinging in his tone that Lindir can't determine.</span></p><p class="western">“Humans and elves alike.”</p><p class="western">“And none have seen him.” This time, it is sadness. It swings in Lord Elrond's voice.</p><p class="western">“You should come with me, trying to find him..”</p><p class="western">“<span>To what end? He doesn’t want to be found. Least of all by me.” Resignation. What is Cirdan trying to convince Elrond of? It sounds important to Lindir’s ears. </span><span>They must be talking about someone, probably an elf by the sound of it. But who?</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Cirdan seems to be </span>
  <span>a bit</span>
  <span> agitated </span>
  <span>now</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>The ban has been lifted. Someone needs to at least tell Maglor, Son of F</span>
  <span>ë</span>
  <span>anor, that he is allowed to make the journey to the blessed realm.”</span>
</p><p class="western"><span>Maglor? Being sighted near the havens? Lindir is glad to hear this, </span><span>has even to stifle his gasp. This</span><span> means the ellon is still alive. </span><span>And by the sounds of it healthy enough to sing.</span> <span>Maybe Elrond will be able to see him again </span><span>after all</span><span>. </span><span>Lindir is happy for his Lord, to not have lost everything, even if it is out of his reach at the moment. There's still a chance.</span> <span>Cirdan’s speech of hope </span><span>at the beginning of the feast</span><span> comes to his mind.</span></p><p class="western">“And what is it to you? You have enough reason to hate him and the whole family.” Elrond is referring to something First Age again. Lindir’s mind is not able to make to connection, lacking the intricate knowledge those two possess. He's studied the old times, of course, but is a complex history.</p><p class="western">“It’s been more than six thousand years, nearly two Ages. He’s been in exile for all this time. This is more than enough punishment, even for an elf used to a long life. Yes, I remember his crimes in the name of the Oath, clearly as if it it had been yesterday. But. I also remember a time, where he fought in the first line against Morgoth, holding the Gap for more than four hundred years.”</p><p class="western">“Doriath and Sirion were after.”</p><p class="western">“Was it his own decision or the Oath compelling him? Both? Still, he is of elvenkind and I would not be so cruel as to not offer him a place on the ships. I told you this before.”</p><p class="western">“<span>You are kind, Cirdan. Many elves would not see the good he's done, only the cursed actions.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Everyone has their own darkness, Elrond. In some it is more pronounced than in others. No elf of the First Age is without it </span><span>and all of them have blood on their hands</span><span>.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Thank you for understanding. Still, </span><span>I can not leave Imladris for the foreseeable future, Cirdan. Until I would be able to go to the havens, he would be long gone. My hope of </span><span>ever</span><span> finding him is dwindling.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>He probably does not want to be found”, Cirdan contemplates. “There is another matter I have to talk about with you.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>W</span>
  <span>ith those words, the two lord step out of earshot again, </span>
  <span>off to their own conversation,</span>
  <span> leaving Lindir to his own thoughts. He’s glad Elrond has found someone who is prepared to help him in the search for Maglor, but the resignation in both their voices makes it clear they’ve had similar conversations before.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>L</span>
  <span>indir wonders for how often those two Lords discussed the topic. Elrond must have told Cirdan about his past somewhere along the line, which explains the sympathy shown by the old shipwright. </span>
  <span>Not many </span>
  <span>so old </span>
  <span>would be this kind towards Maglor F</span>
  <span>ë</span>
  <span>anorion. </span>
  <span>Lindir himself would be benevolent towards the lost minstrel, but he's never seen the First Age nor been directly affected by it. </span>
  <span>His opinion of the ellon is highly influenced by the music handed down, the bits found in the historic scrolls and most of all Elrond's story.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>To Lindir's relief, neither Elrond nor Cirdan s</span>
  <span>aw</span>
  <span> him cowering in the bushes. </span>
  <span>It would have been a really awkward conversation, if they had caught him listening in. </span>
  <span>After this, Lindir's tiredness is gone. His need for a few minutes of quiet has also evaporated. </span>
  <span>He only feels uncomfortable. The rest of the water he gives to the rose bush he had been hiding under.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>hen Lindir crawls out of his hiding place, brushing off the dust that gathered in his robes. </span>
  <span>He should go back to the main hall, get a new drink and make some more conversation with the </span>
  <span>other elves.</span>
</p><p class="western">On his way back to the hall, Lindir passes some couples who are making their way towards the garden. Thankfully, he does not have to help them finding their way. They seem perfectly fine on their own.</p><p class="western">
  <span>In the main hall, the Mereth Aderthad is still going on in full swing. The minstrels are still playing some happy music. Lindir does not really feel in the mood for it right now, but the guest are enjoying their stay. Some are still dancing, even though the pairs have changed. When Lindir enters the hall, the ruling pair of Lothlorien is at it's table again, looking pleased. Glorfindel and Erestor are nowhere to be seen </span>
  <span>and Lindir does not really want to know where they went off to. </span>
  <span>Elrond and Cirdan aren't back from their walk yet, </span>
  <span>maybe they went to the lord's study to deepen their discussion of whatever was plaguing the shipwright's mind.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>L</span>
  <span>indir returns his used glass and accepts a sip of wine instead. </span>
  <span>It truly is a</span>
  <span>n</span>
  <span> extraordinary vintage. This is a royal gift given to the celebration. </span>
  <span>In his mind, Lindir thanks the elves of the Greenwood for it. The red fluid is greatly appreciated </span>
  <span>right now. </span>
  <span>It calms the minstrel's nerves a bit before his performance.</span>
</p><p class="western">“Lindir. It is good to see you”, a female voice interrupts his thoughts.</p><p class="western">
  <span>The minstrel nearly drops his glass, but the Lady is able to catch it before it shatters. </span>
  <span>Lindir has not been paying attention to avoiding the Lady Galadriel it seems.</span>
</p><p class="western">Lindir has not lost his manners. He bows shallowly. “My Lady, it is my pleasure to see you in Imladris again.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>She smiles very benevolent. “And still you have been avoiding speaking to me. </span>
  <span>Tell me, why do you fear me?”</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>he minstrel takes another sip of wine. </span>
  <span>He really needs it. “My Lady, </span>
  <span>forgive for avoiding you so far. My mind has been occupied with my tasks”, </span>
  <span>he deflects.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>She looks him straight into the eyes, making her disbelief clear. Galadriel is </span>
  <span>one of the most powerful elves around, but she does not remark on the avoidance again. Instead she smiles again. “</span>
  <span>You did admirably, helping organize this event. </span>
  <span>Elrond is also very proud of you. </span>
  <span>Tell me, do you intend to act on your feelings for him?”</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>L</span>
  <span>indir chokes on his wine. Next to him is a small table and he puts down his glass. “So far I have no indication if my affection would be welcome. </span>
  <span>Hope alone is fragile.”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>And yet it is the most valuable thing. Keep your hope up and eyes open. Maybe you will find what you think is lost. It all depends on your decisions.” </span><span>She then takes the glass of wine for herself and floats back to her table. Lindir remains back, now more confused than before.</span></p><p class="western">“What did she want?”, another elf suddenly asks him from the side.</p><p class="western">Lindir turns his head towards him. It is Rumil, the youngest of the marchwarden brothers sharing his quarters. “I think she gave me some advise.”</p><p class="western">Rumil laughs and lets his eyes drift over the gathered crowd. “Then you better heed it. The Lady sees far.”</p><p class="western">Thankfully, the warden does not press on. It would have been strange to explain everything. Also, the ellon is distracted by something. Judging his searching looks, he lost someone in the sea of bodies. They stand there for a while, both lost in their thoughts. It does not take long for Rumil to be pulled by someone. Lindir is surprised to see it is Elladan, who grabbed the warden. He watches their retreating backs. Elrond's son is swaying a bit, but drags the Lothlorien elf into the dancing couples. Rumil does not even protest against the manhandling, which tells Lindir enough. He just shakes his head a bit in disbelief and then retreats to the backstage area to have an update on the current matters. The other minstrels are still as chatty as always, but maybe they will be able to distract him a bit.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>he fire is blazing in the courtyard. The dry wood gathered there had been lit only moments before. Lindir and some of his minstrels have </span>
  <span>taken</span>
  <span> a place on the stairs, playing their instruments. It is the conclusion of the night, out here, underneath the stars, like the first elves. Nearly all guests have gathered around the bonfire, enjoying the warmth and the flickering light. </span>
  <span>Some are dancing again to the tunes. The air is now getting colder where the heat of the fire doesn’t reach. </span>
  <span>The mist is rising from the waterfalls of the Bruinen, clouding Imladris in mystery. Still the stars shine through. Especially the elves of Lothlorien are enjoying the sight. </span>
  <span>The light of </span>
  <span>Eä</span>
  <span>rendil is shining down. Lindir is smiling a bit, when he remembers, it is Elrond's father up there carrying a simaril now looking down on Imladris.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Lindir</span>
  <span> watches</span>
  <span> the crowd </span>
  <span>for a while</span>
  <span>. There are the marchwarden brothers, obviously slightly drunk on the wine, for once not as serious as they always appear. </span>
  <span>Elrond's sons directly next to them, chatting on and on.</span>
  <span> Erestor and Glorfindel are dancing </span>
  <span>agian</span>
  <span>, oblivious of their courtship not being a secret any longer. Maybe this was a well thought of decision </span>
  <span>by</span>
  <span> both of them, dropping the secrecy at th</span>
  <span>is</span>
  <span> feast. </span>
  <span>It would certainly suit Glorfindel's dramatics.</span>
  <span> Lady Galadriel is </span>
  <span>at the side </span>
  <span>in a deep conversation with Elrond, so it seems. Her husband is standing next to them, with a pained look on his face. </span>
  <span>Lindir hopes they aren’t discussing </span>
  <span>the threat of Sauron right now. It would be more than ill timed.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>M</span>
  <span>uch too soon, it is time for the last two songs of the evening. One is the shortened version of the Noldolant</span>
  <span>ë</span>
  <span>, which had once been written by Maglor. Lindir just took the liberty of adding a small verse at the end. It is a bold move. He’s leaving all the lines written after the first Mereth Aderthad away, but added a small bit about the original composer of the song.</span>
</p><p class="western">And still I live</p><p class="western">burdened by my deeds,</p><p class="western">
  <span>consequences of</span>
  <span> an oath </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>once </span>
  <span>foolishly sworn</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>b</span>
  <span>y a father’s sons,</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>F</span>
  <span>orever in isolation I remain,</span>
</p><p class="western">no mercy to be found</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>It’s a bold move, adding to such a historical song. It’s been written from Maglor’s own perspective, so Lindir’s new words keep with the general setting. </span>
  <span>But there is a distinct difference. The original tells the story without mentioning the influence of the magically binding oath, putting the blame on every elf alone. After hearing Elrond talk about Maedhros the way he did, Lindir had had the urge to make a difference. </span>
  <span>This is the only way he knows how.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>There is shocked silence for a while. Then murmuring. Lindir swallows. It had not been one of his best ideas, he has to admit.</span>
</p><p class="western"><span>But a</span> <span>difference he made. All eyes are on him, some with sadness in them, others with completely sour expressions. That was to be expected. What hurts, is the disappointment in his Lord’s glaze.</span></p><p class="western"><span>Lindir breathes in and starts the last song of the night, the one requested by Elrond himself. Just as he’s reaching the chorus, his Lord stands up and leaves in a rush, night blue robes billowing. </span><span>Lindir can see his face only from the side, but his expression is a bitter one.</span> <span>The Lady Galadriel is following only seconds after and Lindir </span><span>is struck with terror. It was wrong of him to add to the Noldolant</span><span>ë. His </span><span>L</span><span>ove does not approve</span><span>. </span><span>He should not have done it. What if he destroyed the tentative trust that had been growing between them? What if he has hurt Elrond farther? </span><span>This is unforgivable! </span><span>Every apology he can make is for naught. It would be too late. He should have consulted at least Erestor before making those changes. Now, he has to answer for this transgression himself. Maybe</span> <span>h</span><span>e should remove himself from his Lord's presence as soon as possible. This is the only way he can ensure to never make such a mistake again! </span></p><p class="western"><span>Lindir barely</span><span> manages to make it through the song without bursting into tears </span><span>or a panic attack</span><span>. </span><span>Once he's sung the last lines, his job is done. The feast will later be concluded by Erestor, this he knows. Lindir's presence is not needed anymore.</span> <span>T</span><span>he other minstrel's </span><span>will</span><span> take over </span><span>for the rest of the night</span><span>, playing instrumental pieces from now on until everyone is too tired to be merry any longer. </span><span>It is the perfect arrangement. Originally, it was planned this way to give Lindir some time to enjoy the rest of the festivities himself. But now.</span> <span>he</span> <span>just </span><span>flees the scene.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Lindir </span>
  <span>is</span>
  <span> not able to calm down. Instead, </span>
  <span>makes</span>
  <span> his way into the gardens, </span>
  <span>walking around in circles for a while. </span>
  <span>At first, he had wanted to follow Lord Elrond, but the fear of imposing or adding insult to injury had kept him away. Instead, he finds himself at the rose bush again. The same one he hid under only a few hours before.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>I</span>
  <span>t is Erestor, who finds him there. The adviser's eyes are not lit up in praise, they are cold. Lindir nearly shivers. He's afraid of what is to come, even if he brought it unto himself-</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Lindir”, </span><span>Erestor exclaims. The adviser is very cross with the minstrel. “</span><span>You could have turned this feast into a diplomatic incidence of universal proportions! You should have consulted with Elrond and me first, before adding those verses.”</span></p><p class="western">“I am sorry, Erestor. I needed to get this off my mind. The research indicated…”</p><p class="western">“I don’t care what you think you know, this instance. There were elves in attendance whose families have been hurt by the Fëanorians. For Eru’s sake, there were survivors of Sirion! Not just Elrond! What do you think they feel now?”</p><p class="western">“It’s been two Ages. I did not think my interpretation would cause so much upheaval.”</p><p class="western">“We are elves, forgetting is not something our kin does. It may be true, these six thousand years have passed and minds can change, but it was a high risk you took. You should be grateful Thranduil was not in attendance. Think about it.”</p><p class="western">“I am sorry..”, Lindir tries to say again, but it is too late.</p><p class="western">
  <span>Then Erestor leaves him standing there. Lindir feels lost, the dreadful feeling of shame and sadness setting in. He’s disappointed Erestor. And Elrond. Lost the respect of both of them, for his own foolish whims. </span>
  <span>He worked against his Lord’s wishes. He should remove himself. They certainly have the power to throw him out of Imladris. It would be better for him to leave on his own terms. Maybe he can still go with Cirdan, if the Lord does not withdraw his offer? </span>
  <span>If all the elven realms don’t want him, he will become the third minstrel lost to wandering.</span>
</p><p class="western"><span>T</span><span>he tears are still in his eyes, when he finally makes it back to his rooms. The two marchwarden</span><span>s</span><span> sharing his space are deeply asleep already. </span><span>No wonder. Both of them were not exactly sober the last time Lindir saw them. He internally wishes them the best for their futures, seeing as probably both have given away their hearts to other warriors.</span><span> Lindir is glad </span><span>for them being in the realm of dreams</span><span>. </span><span>Having a talk with them about his newest failing is nothing he had wanted.</span><span> He goes over to his bed, </span><span>treading carefully to not make a sound that would wake his guests. There he</span><span> changes into more practical clothes than the formal robes he’s been still wearing. </span><span>They may be beautiful, but are highly impractical for a travel.</span><span> A</span><span>lso, there is a</span> <span>medium sized</span><span> pack </span><span>stored</span><span> underneath his bed. </span><span>It is big enough to hold the most important items.</span><span> He fills it with </span><span>two changes of clothing, </span><span>grabs</span><span> his favourite harp </span><span>from the nightstand</span><span> and leaves the room again. </span><span>Outside again, he breathes in deeply. He made it without being caught or waking his room-mates. Carefully, he walks through the now almost empty hallways of Imladris. By now, the mist rising up from the Bruinen is thick enough to cloud the stars a bit. Still, there is enough light for Lindir to see his beloved home. By night, it is an exceptional sight.</span></p><p class="western"><span>Too fast, he reaches his destination. A new hiding spot. If he wants to travel away in the morning, he must not miss the departure of the group he wants to go with.</span> <span>This is why he </span><span>spends the night in the stables, waiting for the morning, the departure of the elves of the havens.</span></p><p class="western"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We're at the drama bit now. I'm not really sorry, it will get better. Promise.<br/>On another note, I am still struggling with chapter 17.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Flight of a Broken Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lindir leaves Imladris, with a broken and heavy heart. His destination is for the havens, where he plans to stay until his musical performance. After that, he does not know where his feet will take him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wow, your comments on the last update blew me away! Thank you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Lord Cirdan does not retract his offer. In fact, he doesn’t even comment on Lindir’s frantic excuses. The shipwright sighs just once, saying something about Lindir not being completely wrong. Then he gives the minstrel one of the now empty horses that had been carrying the presents. The mare is a gently being, unlike the warhorse Lindir is used to seeing. She carefully noses at his clothes. Lindir holds out both his hands so she can take in his scent. She breathes out against his skin and then buries her snout in his hair. Carefully, Lindir strokes her neck and plays a bit with her mane. After a while, she makes her acceptance of him clear and the minstrel is ready to mount her. Thankfully he doesn't need for this task, like humans sometimes do.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lindir doesn’t say good-bye to his friends or his Lord. He rides out with the last bulk of elves, when Elrond bids his guests farewell. The minstrel only sees him from afar. The Lord looks sad and tired. Lindir feels worse for knowing he’s been the one to cause this. He should not have presumed. Should not have done what he did. Leaving is the best option he has. It will prevent him from hurting his beloved further. Also, he can escape Erestor's wrath. When his horse carries him through the archway, he passes Elrond. For a precious moment, their eyes lock. The ones of the Lord of Imladris widen in shock, but he does not act or speak up. It shows Lindir how grievous his mistake the night before turned out to be. The look of his Lord's eyes burns into his mind. He feels himself to be near tears. He wants to turn around, to get a last of image of his only love. Never before he felt for another like this and he doubts there will be someone else. Every step the mare takes makes his heart break a bit more. Lindir keeps strong and doesn’t turn around, even when they are so far away to make it impossible to spy a single elf. He wouldn't be able to bear watching Imladris, his home for so long, disappear behind him in the mist. The minstrel doubts he will ever return, even though the future is a mystery to him. He doesn't possess the gift of foresight, like some elves of the royal bloodlines do. For him, the time before him is a dangerous unknown. Still, he won't set foot in Imladris again, should he remain unforgiven. A single tear runs down his cheek, the only outward sign of his inner turmoil.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They are on the road for more than four days. By the end of the second day, Lindir’s behind hurts, because he’s unused to travelling by horse for long journeys. He only used a horse to get to the Bruinen in recent history. This, he did not do often, preferring to go there by foot. He’s glad for every stop the travelling company makes. They do it not out of concern for their weaker members, they do it mainly <span>for</span> their horses' <span>refreshment</span>. Lindir is glad nontheless. The travelling elves themselves sleep in the saddle, their steeds trained to go without constant input from their riders. It’s frightening for Lindir at first. He fears falling off or being ambushed by foes. When he tells the one riding next to him, he is given some leather straps and verbal assurance. There are always enough of the warriors awake to ensure a safe passage. The straps are used for securing oneself to the saddle. The warriors don't need them, but they carry them along for guests like Lindir. The minstrel says thanks and goes back to his own thoughts. Some time later exhaustion takes over and he falls asleep. <span>The last thing he remembers is the crossing of a river.</span></p><p class="western"><span>When he wakes up, they are already</span> in the outer regions of the Shire. At least he assumes this is what it is. The landscape is beautiful, soft green rolling hills stretch out as far as the eye can see.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">During the break, a few of his travelling companions persuade him to play for them. Lindir, who has kept his harp silent for the last days, feels awkward. It was his music that brought him to this place. Still, he agrees to play them a single song. One which does not require his voice. Once bitten, twice shy, a mannish colloquialism comes to his mind. One song quickly turns into a few more, as the elves recognize who is among their company. They ask him politely to keep on making music and Lindir can't refuse them. No elf makes a comment about Lindir’s interpretation of the Noldolantë nights before. For this, he is grateful. He would not want to explain himself, he doubts he even could. He certainly would not be able to stand the judgement.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Their arrival at the havens is a quiet affair, no celebration is held for the return of Cirdan. The old elf just nods, telling everyone to rest. Of course, there is a bit more to it, but Lindir is not there to witness it. Instead, he goes with the mass of elves who are bringing the horses to the stables. The minstrel cares for the mare he'd been allowed to ride himself. Pulling down her saddle and rubbing her fur. The stable-hands tell him where to store her gear. Afterwards, he gives the horse a last good-bye.</p><p class="western">This is where a helper of Cirdan finds him. Her age Lindir can't guess, but her eyes are kind.</p><p class="western">“Come”, the elleth says. Her dark hair is braided in a style many widows prefer. “I will show you a room where you can sleep.”</p><p class="western">“Thank you”, Lindir utters. She signs him to follow her and he does.</p><p class="western">She leads him to a small house. In it, there are many small bunks, all shielded with grey curtains. It is not much, but it is more than Lindir expected. The room is otherwise deserted. It gives the vibe of the houses for the single warriors, with the many beds. These ones here show no sign of usage or of being occupied by someone.</p><p class="western">“This is where the elves rest before setting sail, if they arrive before their ship is finished”, she explains. “We use them as guest quarters sometimes too.”</p><p class="western">Lindir shows his understanding of her explanation. This makes sense.</p><p class="western">“Do you intend to sail, young one?”, she suddenly asks.</p><p class="western">It is a question Lindir has never before thought much about. He carefully constructs an answer to her prying. “One day, I suppose, it will be my time. Not yet though. You?” He’s aware, he’s nosy in return. It should not concern him, whether she plans to or not. He won't form a closer bond with her anyway. This will probably be their only conversation ever.</p><p class="western">Her readiness to give out information surprises him. “Yes. The next ship will carry me away from these shores. I hope to see my husband and son one day again, should Mandos release them.” This is more than Lindir wanted to know. It tells him something about her backstory. Her family is dead then. Lindir glances at the floor in shame. He does not ask about their deaths, it is not his business to drag out others' grievances. He remembers his own and his reluctance to tell anyone about them and keeps silent.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The havens are beautiful in their own right. Still, the sight fills Lindir with melancholy. He misses Imladris. He came to love the valley, it had been his home. What hurts the most, is leaving his beloved one behind. The attraction had been one-sided at best, but he aches for it. He had nearly become friends with Lord Elrond, it should have been enough.</p><p class="western">The architecture is very different. Imladris is built in a mostly Noldorin way, great arches, fine lines and open, the buildings intersecting. At the havens, every house stands for itself. They are almost like mannish buildings, small and stocky. The roofs are covered with reed. These buildings all are functional, not serving as decoration. <span>The insides are cosy, as far as Lindir can tell. Some decorations show the heritage of the Teleri.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>It is the ships, the elves pour all their craft into. </span>
  <span>One morning, Lindir witnesses </span>
  <span>one of the boats being launched. It floats gracefully in the water, the water nearly reflecting on it’s white paint. The sails are still rolled up, for only the hull and masts are finished so far. The furnishings are still missing. Still, it’s a sight to be seen. </span>
  <span>Not too long from now, this ship will sail to never return, making the long journey to Valinor.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>C</span>
  <span>irdan pairs him off with three other minstrels, to prepare the performance he’s promised. </span>
  <span>The Lord of the Havens does not have much free time on his hands, so Lindir does not see him too often. It is a relief, for every sighting makes his heart ache for his own Lord. </span>
  <span>He still misses Imladris terribly, but he won’t return unless explicitly invited. </span>
  <span>It is shame keeping him away and love drawing him back.</span>
</p><p class="western">The three other minstrels are unaware of his internal struggles. He doesn’t try to keep it from them, but refuses to make conversation about it. They accept his silence for the most part. It is unlikely Lindir will become friends with them. As interesting as the havens are, he doesn’t plan on staying for long. Once the performance, maybe multiple ones are over, he will retreat to somewhere else. Maybe going back to a smaller settlement, living among elves and humans. Lindir still knows how to work on a field, it had been part of his upbringing. His father had believed it to be good education, even for an elven child, to learn about the production of food.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Two weeks pass. In this span of time, Lindir manages to get a small set prepared for the promised performance. The other minstrels are quite clever and have some ideas on how to make the pieces even more interesting. Despite their earlier difference, Lindir now enjoys working them. However, they can not replace his friends in Imladris.</p><p class="western">Lindir uses some of his free time to explore the havens. The settlement is a beautiful in it's simplicity. Lindir's favourite spot is on a rocky part of the beach. He found the place with the big boulders on one of his strolls along the shoreline. One of the rocks is located a few steps into the surf. The waves and storms of past centuries have polished it to a fine sheen. The top of the boulder is mostly dry and big enough for an ellon to be able to sit there. Especially in the light of the sinking sun it is an almost magical place. He returns to the spot every few days or so. The quiet soothes his mind and if he closes his eyes, the sound of the water feels like home. Sometimes he falls asleep for a while and it is the only real rest he gets.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">His appetite is reduced. He barely eats, glad no other elf is commenting on it. The mealtimes in the havens aren’t as organized as they are in the hidden valley. Here, one can come and go as one pleases, there’s always something to be had. When Lindir asks about it, he gets a simple answer. There is simply no need for an assembly. The shipwrights know each other and where to find them. Guests only stay for short months until sailing or travelling back home. No need to integrate them into a daily schedule. Also, the elves here prefer it this way, for they are able to take a meal break whenever they deem it fit to do so.</p><p class="western">Every day that passes without a messenger coming from the valley, Lindir’s heart breaks a little bit more. Logically, he knows neither Elrond or Erestor will see his departure as a great loss. They can find someone else to help and attend them. Lindir is by no means irreplaceable. Irrationally, he had still held hope, for their friendship to have survived his mistakes. It apparently did not.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>The night of the performance is a success. Almost all the elves currently residing at the havens take part. There have been some small alterations. Instead of erecting the stage in a hall, the minstrels are asked to play outside, at the water. Parallel to their music, a ship will be sen</span>
  <span>t</span>
  <span> off to Valinor. The elven widow, who had welcomed Lindir on his first day, even takes the time to tell him good-bye.</span>
</p><p class="western">Lindir wishes her a safe travel. “May your loved ones be waiting for you on the shores of the blessed realm.”</p><p class="western">“May you find your luck too, young one”, she says, before turning away, carrying her cargo over to the white ship.</p><p class="western">Lindir goes over to his fellow minstrels and waits for the beginning of the concert.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>In the middle of their set, the elves send off the ship. The dawn is covering the bay in golden colours as the white boat is sailing towards the sun. It is a beautiful sight to see. </span>
  <span>Maybe one day, Lindir will be standing underneath similar sails, looking into the west for what is to come. In his dreams, Elrond is at his side. </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>W</span>
  <span>ith the last notes, the ship finally is out of sight. The vibrations of the sound in the air </span>
  <span>mournfully end. Thusly, Lindir’s time at the haven comes to an end. He bows, as it is customary to do so. Then he leaves, going back to the bunk which had been his bed for the last weeks. He avoids the feast being held in honour of another ship successfully built and of those leaving. Instead, he lets his tears soak into the pillow.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>hat night, his fitful sleep gets disturbed. A voice, singing some sad song drifts in through the windows. It is so beautiful, Lindir has to stand up and see for himself who is the singer. The nightsky is clear and the moons shines brightly, but still, he can not see the lone musician. He must be somewhere near the shoreline, if his ears are pointing him towards the right direction. Lindir grabs his small, already packed satchel and leaves the house.</span>
</p><p class="western">When he goes, he notices, he’s not the only elf awakened by the song. Many are standing at their windows, listening intently.</p><p class="western">Lindir goes over to another young elven lady. “Who is singing at this time?”, he whispers.</p><p class="western">She shushes him. “The wanderer.” It becomes clear to her, that Lindir does not know whom she is talking about, so she adds. “Maglor Fëanorion.”</p><p class="western">“If we can hear him, where is he?” The voice sounds so near, he should be in sight.</p><p class="western">The lady is making a pained face. “Please, do not try to find him. You will only chase him away, ending his song. Others have tried, achieving nothing.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>Lindir leaves her </span>
  <span>behind, ending their conversation</span>
  <span>. He remembers Elrond’s pain too well, when he had told the story of Maglor. Now, being so near to the old famed minstrel, Lindir feels the need to at least tell the wanderer about his adoptive son. </span>
  <span>Maybe he will be able to relay some words to the hidden minstrel with the golden voice. </span>
  <span>His time in the havens has already come to an end. He does not plan on sailing, so he should leave. Seeing he has no real plan where to go, chasing after Maglor is as good an option as any other.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Silently, he makes his way back to his bunk. He needs to leave a message of departure for his hosts. </span>
  <span>Luckily, he has paper, ink and quill there, given to him by his hosts. They were intended for him to write down his music. Lindir did so, planning on leaving them behind as a present. Now, the last piece of paper will carry the words he’s afraid to speak aloud.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>My Lord Cirdan,</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <em>Sadly, I had to leave in a hurry, rendering me unable to say good-bye. Please do not </em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <em>send someone</em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <em> me, for I do not plan to return. Give my thanks to my fellow minstrels, working with them has been a pleasure.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <em>If it is no hardship, please relay my apology to Lord Elrond of Imladris. I am sorry for the distress I caused him at the Mereth Aderthad. My affections for him clouded my judgement. I removed myself from the valley, I do not wish to cause more inconveniences.</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>Thank you for the hospitality.</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <em>Lindir</em>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>When he puts the quill down, </span>
  <span>the voice has stopped singing. Lindir makes the bedding orderly and leaves the </span>
  <span>sheet music and the</span>
  <span> letter on the bunk he was allowed to sleep in. The elves of the havens will certainly find it and bring it to their lord. By then, he will be gone. Of course, they will be able to find him, should they really wish to. Lindir is by no means a tracker or warrior, unskilled in hiding his tracks. </span>
  <span>He won’t even try to do so.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>his time, he turns around. </span>
  <span>The havens are a magnificent sight to see in the light of the stars. They get reflected by the waves, contorting their image. By now, the other elves are all asleep again, except for the few guards, but somehow Lindir has managed to sneak by them. He’s strapped his boots to his backpack, leaving his feet bare. The surf is licking his ankles, the water chilly and refreshing.</span>
</p><p class="western">Behind him, the waves erase his footprints in the sand.</p><p class="western"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading this a bit more fast-paced chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Wanderers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some of you already guessed what this chapter will contain ;) I hope you are pleased with how I wrote this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Lindir doesn’t know how long he’s been wandering along the shores. He feels exhausted and famished already. It must have been hours. A new day has already broken and the sun is rising in the east. His thoughts are still spiralling in his head. He’s aware he has nearly no chance of finding Maglor, he isn’t even sure if he’s walking into the right direction. The old famous minstrel has some considerable head start. Also, the Fëanorion is certainly more used to walking long ways on foot in the sand than Lindir, whose legs are already beginning to protest against the unusual ex<span>ertion. He will soon need to take a break, unless he doesn’t want to walk on later. </span><span>He knows he should have eaten and slept more, to be prepared for this. Maglor's closeness came unexpected, leaving no time for Lindir to get ready. On the other hand, he would probably not been able to get sleep, even if he tried.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>He’s left the havens long behind, he can’t even spy them in the distance any longer. </span>
  <span>Returning there is not an option for now. Also, he has packed </span>
  <span>some</span>
  <span> lembas </span>
  <span>he took from the kitchen. At first, he wanted to keep it on hand should his hunger return, but then he just stored it in his pack without touching it further. Now it will be his sustenance for the way ahead</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>When he asked for it, t</span>
  <span>he ladies baking the bread had </span>
  <span>been reluctant</span>
  <span>, but he had been able to convince them.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>So far, h</span>
  <span>e</span>
  <span>'s not been able to find</span>
  <span> any signs of someone else wandering the shores. No footprints in the sand, giving him a clue if he’s on the right track. It is highly likely Maglor uses the tides like Lindir does now to conceal his tracks. Probably that’s the reason why no elf has been able to find him so far. </span>
  <span>Lindir keeps his eyes directed towards the stretch of endless sand in front of his feet. He keeps his hopes up, of spying another lonely walker in the distance. </span>
  <span>He does not see one, but he can't give up.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The sea is calm this day and the winds pleasant. A few clouds drift over the sky, keeping the temperatures in a low range, but above it being cold. Lindir is wearing his travelling clothes again, this time combined with a cloak he got in the havens, as small thank you for agreeing to perform for the elves there. It is a warm piece of clothing, which also has a few extra buckles in front to close it, if needed. It will certainly come in handy, should it start to rain. One day it certainly will, better to be prepared. Lindir doesn’t know yet for how long he will walk along the shores of middle-earth. The life of a wanderer is never was a dream for him. If he can’t find Maglor, he will have to settle down somewhere else one day. He misses Imladris terribly, not the buildings, but the elves he left behind. Oh, if he hadn’t been so simple minded, he could still be there, serving Elrond and Erestor. Oh, Elrond. How he’s aching to lay his eyes on the great elven Lord only once again. The elven Lord in all his glory has always been a sight to be seen. Always Elrond's body has been covered with the most exquisite robes or armor, but by now Lindir knows the body underneath. He longs for the time he's been serving his Lord.</p><p class="western"><span><span>Tears are springing into his eyes. Suddenly left by all his </span></span><span><span>remaining</span></span><span><span> strength, Lindir lets himself fall down into the sand. His legs feel a bit numb as he crushes them underneath his body. </span></span><span><span>Stones and sharp pieces of seashells pierce into his flesh. He ignores the </span></span><span><span>unpleasant</span></span><span><span> sensations. </span></span><span><span>His eyes turn</span></span> <span><span>towards </span></span><span><span>the west </span></span><span><span>unbidden</span></span><span><span>. </span></span><span><span>Somewhere out there </span></span><span><span>is</span></span><span><span> Valinor, but it is hidden from these spheres. </span></span><span><span>No eye can spy the sacred land, no ship can land there by accident. The passage is hidden.</span></span> <span><span>Supposedl </span></span><span><span>Valinor</span></span><span><span> is a land of healing and happiness, but Lindir can’t imagine a place healing anything. Neither the Halls of Mandos nor Valinor he considers as such. </span></span><span><span>Maybe he will be proven wrong in the future.</span></span><span><span> It must be the people, Valar, Maiar and Elves, who help the lost and hurt, </span></span><span><span>Lindir surmises</span></span><span><span>. So far, he isn’t ready for the journey. What if Maglor feels the same way? Would Lindir be cruel in searching him out </span></span><span><span>and telling him about the open place on the ships</span></span><span><span>? No, he decides. Cirdan and Elrond think that the old minstrel is still believing himself to be exiled. He at least deserves to know that it is possible for him to sail. Whether he will do so is another matter entirely. </span></span><span><span>Maybe Lindir should beg the wanderer to at least once visit Elrond. He still feels indebted to the Lord. </span></span><span><span>For this, he has to find the elusive survivor of the First Age first. </span></span><span><span>Not an easy task for someone as unskilled as Lindi</span></span><span><span>r. Even the best trackers have not found the golden voiced elf, so he should not hold out hope.</span></span></p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>S</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>till, his legs refuse to cooperate with his wants. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>He can't find the strength to stand up. Instead, Lindir takes the bag off his shoulder and opens it. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>He rummages around in his bag, carefully as to not damage his small travelling harp. He had not been able to leave it in the havens after all. He quickly finds the lembas and breaks off a small piece. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>It looks tiny in his hands, but it will probably be more than he can swallow. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>The elvish way-bread is filling. It is made for purpose, not taste. Lindir nibbles on the dry crust of the piece. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Bite by bite, he forces it down his throat. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>After the small meal, his head lolls down, nodding off for a few minutes.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>He wakes because of his clothes becoming wet. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>The tides do not have much of an influence, but it is enough to wash over his place of kneeling. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Lindir pushes himself up on his protesting legs, eyes firmly looking into the direction he needs to go.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>H</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>e </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>walks</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> on after </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>standing around for</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> a while. There is no use in remaining motionless. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>There are some basic needs he has to cover before the night falls.</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> He has to find a safe place for the night. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>He can't allow himself to fall asleep on the shoreline again. It is potentially dangerous. He could be found by foul creatures or swept away by the tide.</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> Hopefully there are no dangerous animals around. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Because it is unlikely to find such a safe spot amon</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>gst</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> the grains of sand, he turns his steps away from the water. There must be something behind the dunes, there is a </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>small</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> forest in sight. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>There are many trees growing which have leaves.</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> M</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>a</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>ybe there will be shelter.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>Lindir finds a tree, which he is able to climb. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>His hands feel raw once he's settled onto a thick branch. He's not used to climbing. His fingertips are not the problem, it is the palm of his right hand that's hurting the most. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Somehow he managed to scrape away some skin and the abrasions burn a bit. Thankfully he’s not bleeding, this would have been an inconve.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>The branch is</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> not the most comfortable place he’s slept in, but also not the worst one. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>There were worse things in his youth.</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> He secures himself with his belt to the trunk. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>It will not prevent him from falling down, but hinders movement a bit and gives him security.</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> Before he falls asleep, he </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>takes</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> his harp </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>out of his pack</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> and plays a song he got taught in Imladris. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>It is an untitled piece, passed down among the minstrels. It is only to be performed in the most dire circumstances, as by their Lord’s decree, but Imladris is far away and nobody is there to reprimand Lindir. His love would probably be disappointed again, </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>but the music has always given Lindir peace.</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> The circumstances are dire for the lone minstrel in the tree, so he gives his fingers the practice. Secretly, he’s always loved this piece, for it tells the story of an elven lord who is begging the Valar to lead his way to his </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>be</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>loved one. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Lindir does not now about the history of this piece, but it sounds old. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Also, it pulls at his heart.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">His voice floats through the air, out towards the sea. He has a perfect view of the shore from where he’s sitting in his bent tree. The moon shines down with his pale light, giving the sand an eerie glow.</p><p class="western">After a verse, Lindir stops singing for a small interlude of his own imagination. He lets his small harp convey the feelings he’s still holding inside. There is the sad tone of lost hope in the music the strings produce and the melancholy of a home left behind. An outsider would not be able to discern those small nuances, but Lindir needs to tell the stars at least.</p><p class="western"><span><span>Just as he is playing the introduction of the second verse, another voice rises in the wind, singing the old words. </span></span><span><span>The other singer uses lyrics in a strange form of Quenya, opposed to the Sindarin version Lindir knows. </span></span><span><span>The young minstrel has problems following the other, because his knowledge of the older language is limited. Also,</span></span> <span><span>Lindir almost stops playing the music </span></span><span><span>out of surprise.</span></span> <span><span>H</span></span><span><span>e has heard this voice only recently, in the havens. Just his luck to be only a day away from Cirdan’s people and getting in contact with Maglor. It can’t be anyone else. What a strange coincidence. Still, when he looks out over the shoreline, he can’t make the other elf out, even though he must be near. His voice sounds like it is coming from all directions. </span></span><span><span>It is more lovely than described in the books. Lindir can’t imagine anyone being a better singer than Maglor F</span></span><span><span>ё</span></span><span><span>a</span></span><span><span>norion is. A bit of mild jealousy sets in, for the minstrel of Imladris envies the raw talent.</span></span></p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>F</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>or a few moments Lindir contemplates climbing down the tree, but strapped in as he is this is a dumb idea. So he stays and continues playing the harp. He won’t see Maglor until the F</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>ё</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>anorion allows him to.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>M</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>aglor falls silent after the second verse and Lindir plays on. The other minstrel does not raise his voice again, but at least now Lindir knows he’s gone into the right direction in his haste to leave the havens behind.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>In the morning nothing proves the presence of Maglor, but Lindir just knows the other to be near. It is a fragile hope he’s holding on to, but it keeps him going. The ache in his muscles his a constant by now. The previous day of walking has him in a state of mild exhaustion already. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Lindir is not used to wandering around and dragging his feet through the sand did not make it better, even if he kept to the harder parts made wet by the sea.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>H</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>e does not find Maglor, Son of F</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>ё</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>anor. There are no traces of the old minstrel, just like the day before. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Lindir just has the vague feeling of being watched, but he does not look around to confirm his suspicions. He also suspects the other can only be found by either accident or Maglor allowing it. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Six thousand years of hiding are an advantage over Lindir, who never liked hide-and-seek.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>T</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>he day passes and Lindir eats a few more bites of his lembas-bread. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>So far, his rations will be enough for at least two weeks. He should probably start to think about what he will do when these run out.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">In the evening, he finds himself another relatively safe spot to sleep. Then he takes out his harp, in the hope Maglor will answer again through song. The Fёanorion does.</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>Thusly the next two nights pass. Somehow, Lindir never s</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>pies</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> the lost Son of Feanor, but at night, they keep singing their strange duet, </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Maglor singing farther every turn.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>T</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>he fourth night proves to be a turning point. Lindir has found</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> again</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> a small secure place, where he’s hidden from the rain. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>The sky looks like it’s going to rain. He’s preparing </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>his meal</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>,</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> when there are steps behind him. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>He’s found some fruit when he was searching for the place for his bed and is cutting it now with his travelling knife. The sweet scent lets his belly grumble. He never expected to be ambushed here.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western"><span><span>He </span></span><span><span>rises as fast as he can and turns around</span></span><span><span>, </span></span><span><span>the</span></span><span><span> small knife in his hand, but drops it instantly, when a finely crafted Noldorin blade is pointed at his throat. </span></span><span><span>The one holding it looks like he’s been through a lot. The clothes the elven stranger is wearing are </span></span><span><span>tinged yellow. They could have been grey once, but this is just an assumption Lindir makes. The</span></span><span><span> boots worn </span></span><span><span>by the other are showing their age</span></span><span><span> and his hair looks like it’s been last washed in the Second Age. </span></span><span><span>It is black, long </span></span><span><span>and</span></span><span><span> fall</span></span><span><span>s</span></span><span><span> down in strands. </span></span><span><span>He’s terribly thin, almost emaciated.</span></span> <span><span>The hand holding the sword looks like it got burned pretty bad</span></span><span><span>ly</span></span><span><span>. </span></span><span><span>The eyes of the stranger relay </span></span><span><span>old pain, </span></span><span><span>mixed with some kind of reflection Lindir can’t place</span></span><span><span>. </span></span><span><span>There is no doubt as to who is standing in front of Lindir.</span></span></p><p class="western">“You are following me. Why?”, Maglor, second son of Feanor asks.</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>Lindir is dimly aware he’s probably the first elf to see the other in about six millennia. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>He has to make this count. “I am Lindir, formerly of Imladris. I have news of your son.” He chose those words very carefully, in hopes not to loose the other instantly. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>He does not address Maglor by any title, even if he knows the other deserves to be called ‘prince’ at least. Really, this one had been ruling King of the Noldor for a while, but those old titles do not mean much here by the sea.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">“I have no son.” The blade remains at Lindir’s throat, pressing now into the skin. So far, Maglor is not drawing blood, but the warning is there. A part of Lindir is aware of how easy it would be for the old elf to just kill him and be done with it. Strangely, it gives Lindir a bit of courage and he answers with confidence.</p><p class="western">“<span><span>Elrond, whom you raised, misses you and would welcome you in Imladris. And”, </span></span><span><span>Lindir pauses and swallows before he goes on:</span></span><span><span> “Cirdan of the Havens would allow you passage to Valinor should you want to sail.” </span></span><span><span>At least he’s said his peace, everything he knows, maybe Maglor will let him live. The past of the other comes to Lindir’s mind, which includes a disturbing amount of kinslaying. “</span></span><span><span>Please. Would you drop the blade? I am a minstrel, not a threat.”</span></span></p><p class="western">The blade stays, which is answer enough. “And what would a minstrel do outside of a safe settlement? Do you think I am a fool?”</p><p class="western">“Exile.” Lindir decides this is ridiculous, takes a step back and sits down. Maglor remains standing, the sword still hovering in the air.</p><p class="western">“Lembas?”, Lindir asks hopefully.</p><p class="western">The other minstrel just looks at him like he’s grown horns and turned into a dragon.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>S</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>omehow, Lindir manages to get Maglor to sit down on the ground beside him. The sword is still at arms reach, but it is better there than pointed at a throat. Lindir breaks the lembas in small pieces and gives some over to Maglor. The black-haired musician gives the food a few sniffs before eating them. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Lindir thinks it strange at first, but then remembers. There have been probably multiple attempts at this elf’s life before, so he should not laugh about the caution he exhibits. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Anyway, </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Maglor does not eat much. He only nibbles a bit and then refuses to swallow more, </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>even though Lindir offers.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>When Lindir tries to make conversation, he receives no answers. Maglor has taken to staring at the ocean, into the west. The minstrel of Imladris is at a loss at what to do. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>It is very clear the F</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>ё</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>anorion is with his thoughts somewhere he can’t be reached. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>It probably is Lindir’s fault, for giving the old ellon so much to think about. Maybe there is a way to get Maglor’s attention.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">Lindir’s tactic works. What manages to draw a reaction is playing the song again. Maglor seems to know it, answering almost immediately. Lindir plays again the small interlude of his own devising, during which the old elf’s eyes become clear again.</p><p class="western">“This is Fingon’s song”, Maglor whispers after a while. “I haven’t heard it being played since the Fifth Battle.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>Lindir changes the tune of his harp, playing an instrumental piece instead so they can talk. “I learned it in Imladris, it is only to be p</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>erformed </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>in bad situations. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Elrond was were adamant about this.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">“<span><span>Maedhros forbade me </span></span><span><span>to</span></span><span><span> play it, after.” </span></span><span><span>Then Maglor says nothing again.</span></span></p><p class="western"><span><span>Lindir wants to ask why the read-haired eldest hated the piece so much, but it soon falls into place. </span></span><span><span>It probably wasn’t dislike that had driven this decision.</span></span> <span><span>Maglor had called the song Fingon’s and High King Fingon had been a friend of Maedhros, this </span></span><span><span>is</span></span><span><span> common knowledge </span></span><span><span>written down in the books retelling the history</span></span><span><span>. It would only be logical for the read-head to be pained by the memories </span></span><span><span>of his friend’s death in the Fifth Battle</span></span><span><span>. </span></span><span><span>This explains also the timing Maglor mentioned.</span></span> <span><span>E</span></span><span><span>ven </span></span><span><span>now,</span></span><span><span> Lindir still has his problems with imagining the famous kinslayers as elves </span></span><span><span>with compassion</span></span><span><span>. </span></span><span><span>He can’t reconcile the image history paints with the elf now before him.</span></span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>Later, when his fingers get tired, </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Lindir offers Maglor the harp to play, </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>but</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> he refuses and hides his hands in his lap. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>This seems odd for someone who was famed for his gift with this instrument. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>He certainly won’t have forgotten the skill, there must be another reason.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">Obviously Maglor hears this internal monologue and answers to the unspoken question. “Didn’t they tell you the simaril burn the hands of those unworthy and evil?”</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>Lindir tries to find </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>his words again, but his mind runs to fast for his mouth</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>. It explains the burned hand</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>s</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> and the urge to hide them. Still, he can’t find it in him to be cruel. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Many other elves would have spoken about how the F</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>ё</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>anorion deserves these marks, but the young minstrel can’t.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">“Show me?”, he asks instead.</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>To his surprise, Maglor shows him his hands. The insides are scarred very badly, the skin raised and showing different colours, from almost white to deep red. In the midst of the palm, the outline of the simaril is most prominent. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>The shaking of Maglor’s hands indicates nerve damage. Lindir has seen it before, in humans. The other minstrel is probable not able to use his fingers in their full capacity. In short, Maglor is unable to play an instrument, hasn’t been able to since the end of the First Age.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">An elven healer would been able to help him, there are treatments for scars. This much Lindir knows, having talked with the most famous healer of his time. These treatments are useless for humans, only elven physiology responding to the magic or whatever. Lindir doesn’t remember everything. Still these wounds are a cruel reminder of the past. “I am sorry”, he says. The, after a longer silence, spent tracing the outline the stone burned into the flesh, he asks: “Why haven’t you tried to get them treated?”</p><p class="western">Maglor looks at the ground again. He avoids looking at Lindir for a while, going so far as to hiding his hands again. Then something snaps in the old minstrel and he looks sharply into Lindir’s eyes.</p><p class="western">“<span><span>I am exiled. Everyone </span></span><span><span>surviving</span></span><span><span> the First Age should and would have killed me instead of trying to heal </span></span><span><span>those burns</span></span><span><span>. And I am afraid of the void </span></span><span><span>I swore my f</span></span><span><span>ё</span></span><span><span>a</span></span><span><span> to.”</span></span></p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>I</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>t is a logical explanation and also reveals how deep the scaring really goes. It is not physical only, there are mental scars too. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>The trust Maglor shows with </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>telling Lindir</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> this is overwhelming. They’ve know each other for four days at most, counting their nightly duets. It is fast, for someone like Maglor F</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>ё</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>anorion to be sharing his thoughts.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">Still. “Elrond would have helped you. He’s a great healer and regards you as his father.”</p><p class="western">“<span><span>I do not know what your relationship with </span></span><span><span>Eä</span></span><span><span>rendil’s son is, for him to have told you such words. I love</span></span><span><span>d</span></span><span><span> him like a son, but still, it was Maedhros and me who drove his parents away and kidnapped </span></span><span><span>him</span></span><span><span>. For all I know, he should hate me”, </span></span><span><span>recounts Maglor the history he’s sharing with Elrond.</span></span></p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>It shows Lindir how different Maglor is from the elf he imagined him to be. He expected a distrustful and distant elf, who would not willingly go near Lindir. He imagined, if he found the other, </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>it would be</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> sleeping and unaware, driven incoherent by the passing of time. Instead, he found a grieving, injured and lonely elf, who feared hunters and death behind every corner. All the other</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>s </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>coming before Lindir</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> trying to make contact</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> must have driven the old minstrel away in fear of retribution for one kinslaying or the other. He’d been so sure of being hunted, Maglor never considered the opposite. He must have watched Lindir for some time, to make sure he’s as good as unarmed, alone </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>and harmless</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> before approaching. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Lindir does not understand why Maglor chose to reveal himself to him, but he’s grateful for it. Maybe their shared passion for music was the tipping point.</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>It still doesn’t explain why Maglor risked singing near elven settlements so often, but this question is better kept for another day. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>The old minstrel looks exhausted. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Conversation seems to tire him more than walking does.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">“<span><span>He doesn’t hate you”, Lindir assures him. The he offers: “I can watch over your sleep, if you wish so.” </span></span><span><span>Maglor doesn’t look convinced. It is possible he will just stand up and leave. </span></span><span><span>He can surely guess how </span></span><span><span>little training Lindir has in keeping watch.</span></span></p><p class="western">Instead of fleeing the old minstrel relaxes. “Thank you.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>For a while, both remain silent. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>Lindir stares out at the sea, watching the sun sink down into the ocean.</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> Then Maglor speaks up again. “</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>F</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>or which crime did you get exiled?”</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <span>Lindir </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>doesn’t look at his companion</span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>. “Foolishness”, </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>he says. It is the shortest explanation of his situation he can give.</span>
  </span>
</p><p class="western">Maglor laughs a bit. It sounds bitter.</p><p class="western">“If foolishness was I crime, the elves would have never seen the light of the trees. What did you do?”</p><p class="western">“Nearly caused a major diplomatic incident. I left in shame, for having hurt the one I love”, explains Lindir.</p><p class="western">“And your lover did not hold you back?” Maglor sounds surprised.</p><p class="western">“It’s one-sided.”</p><p class="western">Maglor covers his face with his hands. “And they are of a high station, which would explain the diplomatic situation.”</p><p class="western">“He is.” It suddenly occurs to Lindir, that this is actually one of the elves Elrond considers his father in front of him. Probably he should not tell Maglor it is his son he’s so attached to.</p><p class="western">It is too late. Maglor has figured out a good portion of the truth. “Does he know, your Lord?”</p><p class="western">Lindir swallows. “I sent him a message through Cirdan.”</p><p class="western">“You should have told him yourself”, Maglor says in a grave voice. “Before it is too late.”</p><p class="western">Lindir shakes his head. “You would not encourage me if I told you it is Elrond my heart chose. He’s a married elf, with his wife waiting in Valinor.”</p><p class="western">“Freaking history repeating itself”, the old minstrel grumbles. Then, more clearly, he adds: “He deserves to hear the words out of your own mouth. Do not make the same mistakes my brother made. But also: Elrond, really?”</p><p class="western">“Really.”</p><p class="western">“Then be prepared for a scolding.” Maglor sounds a bit amused. He’s certainly more talkative now that he has decided to trust Lindir. “The elfling I remember hated it, when his brother or friends walked away from an argument. You are also guilty of this.”</p><p class="western">“I made him sad, I do not think he will want to talk to me again.”</p><p class="western">“<span><span>I have seen him in his younger year</span></span><span><span>s, when Elros made him cry, to run after him and resolve their issues. He was always destined to become a great healer, it is good to hear he followed this path.” </span></span><span><span>Maglor smiles a bit, talking about Elrond makes him happy.</span></span></p><p class="western">“<span><span>He did, is probably the best elven healer around. But he seems always so sad to me. He has lost so much.”</span></span></p><p class="western">“He did”, Maglor agrees. “And I am sorry being the cause of the greatest loss, the loss of his parents.”</p><p class="western">“All four of them. You should maybe apologize to him too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As you may have guessed, I really like the eldest two Sons of Feanor - Maglor's history is just soo heartbreaking, he deserved a better ending in Silm canon...<br/>Thank you for reading this long chapter :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Tracked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for your lovely comments on the last chapter. I greatly appreciated them!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">
  <span>They remain in the same spot for nearly a whole day. Lindir somehow gets Maglor to agree to the break. They are far away from the next human or elven settlement and should be able to see anyone approaching from afar. </span>
  <span>Their rations will last them for days. </span>
  <span>They found some bushes with edible berries near them, which allows them for more than dry lembas. </span>
  <span>Lindir wonders why Maglor has seemingly no provisions on him, but this would explain the malnourished state of the other elf. Should he want to leave, Lindir will make sure he will take all the bread with him. For now, they keep sharing. </span>
  <span>Maglor does not eat much anyway.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>hey spent the night in their hideout where the rain can’t soak them. The next morning, the clouds have passed, so they both decide to wander on. There is no place they want to reach. Lindir is content with accompanying the old minstrel wherever he goes. He has no immediate plans. He knows he wishes for a stable home again, one day, but at the same day he doesn’t want to leave Maglor alone. The other has spent millennia alone, it would be cruel to go after forging this bond between them, born of similar circumstances.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>Also, he fears what Maglor will do once alone again. Him eating almost nothing is an indicator of not everything being alright, even though they make amicable conversation. Lindir also recognizes the hope he’s brought the lonely wanderer. </span>
  <span>He told him of the </span>
  <span>new</span>
  <span> possibilities, either to visit Imladris or sail. </span>
  <span>Hope is always a sharp knife. It is easy to break. Lindir still hopes for one of his friends chasing after him and he breaks a bit more every day.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>hey find shelter for the next night in an abandoned, burned building. Believing Maglor, who walked the shores often, it is a secure place and the next settlement is days away. Apparently the humans and hobbits dislike the coast, fearing Ulmo’s domain </span>
  <span>and settle in safer territories.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>hat night, Lindir wakes up, because Maglor has a nightmare. It is a violent one. The old minstrel is turning and tossing on the dirty floor, staining his clothes even more. </span>
  <span>He is mumbling under his breath, mixed with whimpers. Lindir does not know how to react in the darkness that surrounds them. Being inside, not even starlight reaches their eyes. Waking the other minstrel in this total night would be a bad idea, but letting him sleep is so too. </span>
  <span>In the end, Lindir jumps up and opens the door of the burned barn, so the moonlight falls in through it. Lindir has no chance of carrying the old minstrel, otherwise he would have brought him outside. </span>
  <span>Instead, he shakes Maglor.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Mae!”, the old minstrel shouts when he wakes. </span><span>Then he begins to weep. The tears leave clear rivers in the dirt on his cheeks. Lindir just holds onto the other, </span><span>being silent.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>W</span>
  <span>hen Maglor has calmed, Lindir softly ask</span>
  <span>s</span>
  <span> “Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p class="western">“I see Maedhros’ death, shifting into him calling to me from the void, in fear and agony, begging me to stay alive.”</p><p class="western">There is nothing Lindir can say to make this better. He knows the wording Feanor gave the Oath. There is a real possibility of those nightmares being the actual truth. Lindir bites his tongue.</p><p class="western">
  <span>N</span>
  <span>either of them can find sleep again. Instead they decide to wait for the morning, watching the stars fade in the beginning of the new day.</span>
</p><p class="western">When the sun is up, they go on their way again, wandering along the shore, wherever the sands will take them.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“How did you survive?”, Lindir asks his companion. “Here by the sea, there is not much food to find.”</p><p class="western">Maglor turns to him. “I went into some human settlements. There are quite a few further down the way. Small towns living off the fish they catch. Most of them are willing to trad a travelling minstrel with some edible goods for a few songs in the tavern.”</p><p class="western">“No one recognized you?”</p><p class="western">“Why should they? There are no elves in theses towns, only humans or hobbits, depending on where you are. Maybe every ten years I revisit a settlement, by then everyone has forgotten the traveller.”</p><p class="western">“And in between visiting the towns?”</p><p class="western">“I ate what grew at the way.”</p><p class="western">Lindir shakes his head slightly. It explains Maglor’s malnourished state and the small amount the other minstrel eats whenever offered food. Somehow, Lindir wants to offer the Fёanorion more of the lembas, but he knows they will have to ration it. So far, they have not discussed where they will go. Lindir doesn’t want to leave Maglor alone, this much is clear. He doesn’t know what he will do should the other minstrel want to keep wandering. Lindir will probably just follow. He’s also afraid to ask.</p><p class="western">The other option is trying to convince Maglor to go to Imladris, to Elrond. This would be preferable, but is also unlikely. Six thousand years of exile and emotional torment can’t be overcome in hours. Not days. It will take years, Lindir surmises, for Maglor to go willingly into an elven settlement without further help. Even though there is trust between them, Lindir won’t be able to dissuade the older ellon’s fears. Elrond could do it, but the Lord is far away, in Imladris, safe where he belongs. He has almost certainly forgotten Lindir by now. Tears well up.</p><p class="western">“You have not lost him”, Maglor interrupts his thoughts. “He’s alive, you could go back. The Elrond I knew would forgive you in a heartbeat.”</p><p class="western">Lindir shakes his head. “I made a mistake and chose exile.”</p><p class="western">Maglor rolls his eyes. “I appreciate your steadfastness, I do. But I’ve seen relationships wither like yours before, because of the beliefs of one partner. Go back to Elrond and tell him.”</p><p class="western">“I can’t”, Lindir says, thinking of how he left Imladris in shame. “You however can.”</p><p class="western">Maglor looks at the sand beneath their feet and shakes his head. His eyes suddenly seem so far away and whatever Lindir tries, he can’t get another conversation going. It seems he has lost the old minstrel. Instead, he sings a newer song, in the hopes of Maglor learning it. It is one of Lindir’s favourites.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What was the diplomatic incident you nearly caused about?”, Maglor asks on the next day. They spent the night underneath the stars, near the water. It was an insecure location, but the old minstrel had just ignored Lindir’s pleading.</p><p class="western">With the morning, Maglor came back from his mind, seemingly surprised of Lindir’s presence. As if the young ellon would have left his new companion.</p><p class="western">“I added a bit to the Noldolantё”, he confesses.</p><p class="western">Maglor looks up. “To that old antiquated piece? I thought no one sings it willingly.”</p><p class="western">“Oh, we elves of Rivendell just decided to revive the Mereth Aderthad and dug out the old songs.”</p><p class="western">“For what do you young elves need a Feast of Reunion. I don’t image you are divided into more or less hostile fractions nowadays.”</p><p class="western">This leads to Lindir explaining the situation with the elven realms to this date. Somehow, Maglor’s knowledge ends around the time of the beginning of the Second Age. He knows then a bit of Elrond’s children and family, but not of the politics.</p><p class="western">“I spent more time conversing with humans, who did not know much either about the elven realms”, Maglor explains. “I was glad to hear of Elrond surviving the Last Alliance and getting married. I grieved for Ereinion and Celebrimbor them.”</p><p class="western">“Tell me, Maglor, what do you know of Gilgalad’s heritage?”</p><p class="western">The old minstrel smiles. “He’s not Fingon’s, if that is what you’re asking. He was always honourable and would have never… Also, if he’d been Findekano’s son, the kingship would have passed directly to him and not to Turgon.”</p><p class="western">“I just always wondered. I always assumed Gilgalad to be of Finarfin’s line, but nobody knows his lineage. Or those who do keep quiet.”</p><p class="western">“We keep quiet”, Maglor says. “Not because of any oath, because of choice, mind you. Should you meet the former High King one day, you have to ask him yourself.”</p><p class="western">“He died.”</p><p class="western">“He will be reborn, one day in Valinor. You will meet him.”</p><p class="western">“You can tell him then how much you grieved for his death”, Lindir says. Maybe taking about a future will make Maglor come to terms with the possibility of sailing.</p><p class="western">“Maybe. But I could not bear seeing my old home again without my brothers.”</p><p class="western">The hurt in Maglor’s voice is obvious. He must have been close with his siblings. Lindir, who has none, can not fathom how much pain the other is in. He can only guess from the look of the old ellon’s eyes. The statement also shows what Maglor assumes to be true.</p><p class="western">“How do you know they won’t be waiting for you. Six thousand years of the sun have passed since their deaths, for some of them it’s been even longer”, Lindir asks.</p><p class="western">“We swore the Oath. Our fёa are doomed. There is the void waiting for us, not the Halls of Mandos. If we die, no peace awaits us.”</p><p class="western">“You can’t know it”, Lindir interferes. “Eru may have had mercy.”</p><p class="western">“May have had”, Maglor growls. “Do you hear yourself speaking?” The old minstrel’s eyes are flashing and suddenly Lindir is again very aware of the threat his companion can be.</p><p class="western">“Yes. I speak of hope. Namo lifted the doom, why can’t there be a happy ending for all of you?”</p><p class="western">Maglor shakes his head. “If you want to keep me company, you should cease such talk. I know my own crimes and the punishment waiting. Do not tell me otherwise.”</p><p class="western">Lindir has to relent. He does not want to loose Maglor so shortly after finding him. If these are the rules, he can abide them. He doesn’t agree with the Fёanorion on these matters, being raised with hope in his heart, but for once he will keep his tongue in check.</p><p class="western">Their conversation gets drowned by the waves again, Maglor getting unresponsive.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“What did you add to the Noldolantё that required fleeing Imladris?” Maglor takes up their talk from hours ago. They are sitting on a dune, looking out into the setting sun in the west.</p><p class="western">“Just a few lines about you, the original author of the song, the only surviving elf of the First Age not at the renewed Feast.”</p><p class="western">“Is that so? And a few lines about me made you leave your home?”</p><p class="western">“The reaction of the crowd was mixed, to be honest. But Elrond was not happy with me and his chief adviser reprimanded me heavily. I could not bear my Lord’s disappointment, so I took Cirdan’s offer of accompanying his group to the havens.”</p><p class="western">“All the Eldar have a good memory. I do not expect them to forgive me.”</p><p class="western">Lindir bites his tongue to keep himself from arguing. His words would certainly fall into the category of raising Maglor’s ire.</p><p class="western">“None looked murderous, if that’s your fear. More surprise than anger, I would say.”</p><p class="western">Maglor does not look convinced and Lindir drops the subject.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Maglor gets more talkative as the hours pass by. He starts asking questions more and more, often referring to things Lindir already grazed with his explanations. In between those small conversations, the quiet is now less depressing.</p><p class="western">“Tell me about Imladris?”, Maglor asks on the second day of their wandering. “Is it as hidden as the name suggests?”</p><p class="western">
  <span>Lindir smiles. “The valley it is named for is indeed surrounded by cliffs and waterfalls. </span>
  <span>There are </span>
  <span>two</span>
  <span> ways leading into the settlement, one is a path so small no horse can pass it. </span>
  <span>The other is the one used by most visitors and our own guards.”</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Not very strategic”, Maglor critics. “You could easily get surrounded by the enemy there, like Gondolin.”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Your view is pessimistic. After the Last Alliance, Sauron was defeated and for all this time Imladris has been safe.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>M</span>
  <span>aglor does not give a retort to this, but certainly not because he changed his mind. Instead, the old minstrel asks his young friend to describe the valley. </span>
  <span>Lindir does and tries to find the best words to explain to Maglor why Imladris is such a beautiful place.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“<span>I heard my cousin is still alive.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>Lindir is confused for a moment. </span>
  <span>He does not have a perfect grasp on the family tree of Finw</span>
  <span>ё</span>
  <span>. As someone who researched the history quite a bit, it is a shameful admission to make, but he can’t help it. </span>
  <span>Memorizing all the names takes time, especially since everyone has at least two of them and the historians like to mash them together. </span>
  <span>Also, some of them sound exactly the same.</span>
</p><p class="western">“<span>Which one are you talking about?”, Lindir asks for clarification.</span></p><p class="western">“<span>Are there more alive than one? I am talking about </span><span>Artanis. </span><span>You may know her as Galadriel.”</span></p><p class="western">Lindir shudders. He knows her better than he wants to. She must have been a fearsome lady, even then, being one of the leaders. “Yes, I spoke with her shortly.”</p><p class="western">“<span>Is she well?”</span></p><p class="western">“<span>She is.</span><span> She </span><span>also</span><span> does not hold a grudge against you.”</span></p><p class="western">“That you know of.”</p><p class="western">“<span>As far as I am aware, she would welcome you back.”</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>M</span>
  <span>aglor shakes his head again. “You are very optimistic about my prospects. </span>
  <span>Still, not convincing.”</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>I</span>
  <span>f Lindir’s presence is exhausting for the older minstrel, he doesn’t let it show (much).</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They both don’t realize they are being followed for hours. Rarely they look back, the eyes mostly turned down or ahead. They keep on walking in the shallow water, sloshing around their ankles. It is not too cold this time of the year and Lindir is getting used to it. The gentle roll of the waves serves well to dissuade thoughts and to let the time pass. Maglor really does not make much conversation and leaves Lindir often in silence. The young ellon can deal with it, even if he has some questions. He also bites back all the words his mind comes up in the hope of making Maglor less miserable.</p><p class="western">When the sun is highest in the sky, they make a small break again. Lindir needs it. His legs are protesting heavily, he’s still unused to such long treks through wet sand. Maglor is surprisingly very understanding and allows the delay. It shows Lindir again how much Maglor is removed from the expectations he had had. Also, like Lindir, he doesn’t have to be somewhere. There is no schedule for them. No one is waiting for them at home or for their arrival. They are together alone, at the sea underneath the sun. Two minstrels on their way to lands unknown.</p><p class="western">For the break, they leave the sandy shore and take a place <span>at the top of a high dune. Climbing up the slope is strenuous, but Lindir manages it. They have again a good view over the coast. The parts they are in is rocky, the sand lined with some medium sized boulders. If Lindir’s legs were better, he would have tried standing on every one of them. The way it is, he is very glad to be able to sit down for a few moments. </span><span>Maglor is always watchful for the both of them, trying to spy possible dangers, even if it is very unlikely to see orcs at the waterfront. The foul creatures despise Ulmo’s domain. </span><span>Lindir still follows Maglor’s gaze more often now, out of curiosity.</span></p><p class="western">This is, when a lonely rider appears near the water’s edge in the distance. It is clear to their eyes of which people this new traveller is. This is an elf, riding there. From so far away, Lindir can’t make out the features of this one. The rider seems to be looking down, like he is searching for something underneath the waves or in the sand. Somehow Lindir doubts the stranger is collecting sea shells or gathering crabs for a meal.</p><p class="western">Maglor is already crouching down into the sand, his hand on the sword. Lindir does the same, at least the crouching bit, he does not carry a weapon on him. Except for the small knife, but that would just have been ridiculous.”</p><p class="western">The rider comes closer fast. Lindir can make out traditional riding gear as it is used in Imladris and Lothlorien for their hunters. The clothing <span>reveals </span>a typical elven stature. The hair of the approaching ellon is windswept and stops Lindir from getting a clear view to their face. They are wearing few braids, nothing distinctive. Sometimes the hair style elves choose are based on their habitat. These ones are almost standard and worn throughout Middle-Earth. But. The hair-colour and the stature are painfully familiar to Lindir. This elf, whoever he is, bears a remarkable resemblance to Lord Elrond. Lindir ducks himself deeper into the sand, trying to hide. Maglor is still at his side.</p><p class="western">“What do we do now?”, Lindir asks.</p><p class="western">Maglor looks him dead in the eye. “For running we realized him too late. So, let’s see what he wants, if he wants something of us and is not another wanderer just passing by. The chances are he doesn’t know either of us.”</p><p class="western">Maglor then signals Lindir to press himself into the ground again. The old minstrel is hovering protectively on his arms, ready to attack or defend. He seems to be perfectly clear for now.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They do not have to wait for long. They hear rather than see the horse coming near, then the sound of the rider dismounting. By now it is clear, he’s skilled with tracking and definitely on their trail. Maglor keeps staring down from their slightly perched position, but Lindir does not raise his head again.</p><p class="western">“Mae govannen?”, the stranger says. He must be near their hideout. So far he’s still hidden on the other side of the dune. “I come in friendship.”</p><p class="western">Lindir shoots up. He knows this voice! There is no doubt to who it is. He does not know how this ellon found them.</p><p class="western">By now, the not-stranger is on top of the small hill they were hiding behind and looks down. “Lindir!”</p><p class="western">Both Lindir and Maglor stare at Lord Elrond, who sinks to his knees in front of them, relief and exhaustion clearly visible in his eyes.</p><p class="western">Lindir bows. “My Lord.” The former minstrel of Imladris remains with his knees in the sand, keeping his eyes on the ground.</p><p class="western">Maglor is still holding his sword, but he too looks very confused. “Elrond?”, he asks, doubt in his voice.</p><p class="western">Elrond raises himself back up onto his feet. Lindir remains down on his knees, but he watches the scene before him now. It is clear to him how happy his Lord is to see the old minstrel. For all their shared history and heartbreak, seeing the reunion finally happen is relieving.</p><p class="western">“Ada, it is me. I am so glad to have finally found you.” Elrond takes another step towards Maglor, then grabs the old minstrel by his shoulders and pulls him into a firm hug. From his position on the ground, Lindir can only see his Lord’s back and Maglor’s face. The old minstrel holds himself perfectly still, the sword useless in his hand. It takes a few moments for the Fёanorion to surrender and return the hug.</p><p class="western">There are tears in the old elf’s eyes. “You should not call me father”, he whispers. “Though I have always regarded you as a son, I was the one to hurt your parents.”</p><p class="western">Elrond stiffens and chuckles. Lindir can see it in the shaking of his Lord’s shoulders. “Ada, I am more than six thousand years old now. I had time enough to think about the past. You are my father, and Maedhros, more than Eärendil ever was.”</p><p class="western">Now the tears are falling freely. Lindir wonders again why Maglor always fled before. Then he remembers what the old minstrel told him, about fear, and his thoughts end their circling.</p><p class="western"><span>Next to him, </span>Maglor pulls back and offers his sword to Elrond and dries his tears. Lindir is still on the ground, watching in shocked silence as his companion goes down on one knee. “Elrond, Lord of Imladris. I offer you my sword, to pass judgement for my crimes as you see fit.” The old minstrel’s voice wavers. Lindir can see how much courage is in that gesture. Maglor fears death and judgement that can lead to it, because he’s sworn to the void. Giving Elrond the power to kill him is a bold move and Lindir wants to interfere.</p><p class="western">Before he has done more than open his mouth, Elrond throws the sword away and takes Maglor’s hands into his own, looking at the scars first and then in the other’s eyes.</p><p class="western">“I won’t take your life. I won’t harm you. But you could to me a favour.” There is a bit of mischief in Elrond’s eyes and Lindir wonders what he plans. It becomes clear soon enough.</p><p class="western">“Anything”, whispers Maglor hoarsly.</p><p class="western">“I have lost all four of my parents. Two of their choice, the other driven to darkness. Now I have found one again. I do not want to loose him again. Would you come to Imladris with me?”</p><p class="western">Maglor has no other choice than to nod. Elrond has seemingly overpowered all the defences the old minstrel possessed. Lindir himself has tears in his eyes. He’s happy for Maglor and the sweet reunion with Elrond. It also leaves Lindir feeling a bit uncomfortable. He <span>wants to </span>retreat to give them privacy. The embrace between Maglor and Elrond is something so pure, he feels like he is intruding.</p><p class="western">Lindir shuffles a bit and prepares to leave. He thinks about standing up and making his way into the near forest. Maglor being forgiven does not necessarily include his own redemption.</p><p class="western">Before he can take action, Elrond turns around in the embrace. The Lord must have seen Lindir’s struggling in the periphery of his eyes.</p><p class="western">“Lindir”, he says and lets Maglor go. When he sees the tears in the minstrel’s eyes, he hurries the two steps over. The Lord of Imladris kneels down in front of his lost musician. Lindir does not know how to respond. This feels too much like a dream. Many of his hopes are becoming true. Can this really be reality? Lindir swallows and lifts his eyes to look at his Lord. If this is a dream, he is allowed to act as he wants.</p><p class="western">Elrond grabs Lindir by the shoulders, letting his hands trail down the arms until their fingers are intertwined. It is in this moment the minstrel realizes this to be real, not a waking dream. Lindir <span>turns</span> his eyes down, now looking at their clasped hands. “I am sorry, My Lord.”, he whispers. He means everything. The incident, caused by his desire, leaving without saying good-bye. The minstrel has many regrets, many have been addressed by Maglor already, he does not have to voice them again.</p><p class="western">Elrond suddenly pulls Lindir forward, until the minstrel’s head rests against his shoulder. Lindir himself is nearly dying inside. He has never been so close to his Lord before when the other had been conscious. It is one of his old wishes being fulfilled and instantaneously he fears rejecti<span>on</span> still. It never comes. Instead, Elrond wraps his arms around Lindir.</p><p class="western">“I am glad you are safe. I was so worried.” Elrond relaxes further in his arms. It is a small show of trust and relief. Lindir wants to weep.</p><p class="western">Tentatively, Lindir reciprocates the embrace. Over Elrond’s shoulder, his and Maglor’s eyes meet. The other minstrel just smiles and nods. Then the old Fёanorion turns away and sits down to grant them some privacy. Even without words Lindir understands this is a blessing.</p><p class="western">“I am sorry for causing you such worries”, Lindir whispers. “I had caused you pain, I did not want to make it worse by lingering.” He feels Elrond tense in response to his words. Has he made a mistake in revealing his feelings about his misstep?</p><p class="western">“Do you know what I felt when I saw you on that horse?” Elrond doesn’t even make a passing reference to the evening in question, the last night of the Mereth Aderthad.</p><p class="western">Lindir shakes his head. It would be wrong to make an assumption.</p><p class="western">“I was shocked and hurt. I had planned to come to you in the morning, thanking you for your compassionate interpretation, but I could not find you. And then Erestor told me of his last conversation with you.” It should sound like a reprimand, but Elrond’s voice is calm and soothing with an underlying tone of sadness.</p><p class="western">“Erestor was not wrong”, Lindir nearly sobs. “It could have spelled disaster.”</p><p class="western">“Could. It did not. And then you were gone and I could not go after you.” Elrond pulls back again and looks deep into Lindir’s eyes. “I did not want you to leave.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nearly breaks down. The dark spiral his thoughts had been since the Mereth Aderthad lessens. It feels like he can finally breathe again. He also feels the need to explain himself. “I saw you leave after the performance. There was the scolding I got from Erestor. I did not wish for further confrontation, so I took Cirdan’s offer. I did not plan on staying in the havens though. When I heard Maglor sing, I followed.”</p><p class="western">Elrond shakes his head and grasps Lindir’s fingers again.</p><p class="western">“There is much you don’t know. I <span>asked</span> Cirdan to keep an eye on you until I could come to the havens. I was already on the way when you disappeared. Cirdan wanted to tell you the morning after the performance, but by then he only found your message.”</p><p class="western">Lindir blushes. He feels the heat rise up in his cheeks when he remembers just what he had written in this small note.</p><p class="western">“Did you write the truth? About you affection for me?”</p><p class="western">“Yes”, Lindir whispers.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next week's update will be delayed or moved a week behind due to personal reasons.<br/>No worries, the draft of this fic is almost finished by now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Affection Returned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all for the feedback during the past two weeks!<br/>Finally, we're at chapter 17, which gave me headaches for a long time. Also, you may have noticed the total chapter count has gone up by two - yes, there will be two more chapters, tying up some story-sidelines.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Yes, I did”, Lindir reiterates. He is on the brink of apologizing again, when he feels Elrond’s left hand under his jaw. He allows his head to be turned upwards.<br/>
What he sees in Elrond’s face nearly floors him. There is hope in these old wise eyes. Hope! It makes the beautiful face even more so. Lindir wants to drown in those eyes. He keeps his body still, waiting for his Lord to decide his next move. He uses the time to study Elrond. In the few weeks Lindir has not seen him, he has not changed much. It is a relief at first. When he looks close however, he notices that the eyes are sunken in a bit. It is just a marginal difference, but Lindir sees it. He's noticed it before, when Elrond had had too much work to do and barely slept. Lindir hopes desperately his disappearance wasn't the trigger for it. Luckily, before his thoughts can spiral into the abyss, Elrond pulls him back.<br/>
Then the Lord of imladris leans inward and places a chaste kiss onto Lindir’s forehead. It is a soft, warm sensation against his skin. Such a kiss is a very intimate gesture which let’s the minstrel’s heart soar. He has never felt another’s lips on his skin before. It gives him warmth. It also eases some of his worries. Elrond does not push him away and keeps him close instead. Lindir does not pull back either. They remain in a sort of embrace for a few moments.<br/>
“Will you come back to Imladris with me?”, Elrond asks. His eyes are focussed on Lindir's and the minstrel won't deny him. It is also his own wish to see the hidden valley again. He's been missing the settlement too.<br/>
Lindir just nods. “Thank you for inviting me back.”<br/>
“Of course”, Elrond answers. “I have missed you greatly those last few weeks. Everyone has missed you.”<br/>
Lindir looks at the ground again. The sand is nearly white where they are kneeling. He chokes down his guilty feelings and prepares an answer. “I shall return with you.” A smile breaks out on Lindir's face. It finally sinks in. There is a future for him in the valley.<br/>
“Thank you, Lindir.” Elrond pulls him into another hug. It's the most bodily contact Lindir's had in the past hundred years. The last one hugging him had been his own mother, right before she made her way to the havens herself. One of Elrond's hands plays with Lindir’s hair. The gentle combing is very soothing and the minstrel leans into the caresses.<br/>
Lindir does not know for how long they kneel in the sand like this. It is Elrond who pulls back first and Lindir almost mourns the loss. He's afraid this will be a one-off, out of relief. Elrond offers a hand to help Lindir up. When they are both standing again on shaky legs, Elrond does not let go. He keeps Lindir's fingers entwined with his own, whilst he walks over to Maglor. Lindir has no other choice than to follow. Really, he wouldn't want to let Elrond's hand go even if he could.<br/>
Maglor looks up at them and smiles. The old Fëanorion sits cross-legged on the ground, twisting a stray bit of grass in his hands. “So you convinced him to go back with us. Well done”, he says.<br/>
Lindir blushes and nods. Of course he is going back.<br/>
The older minstrel seems almost happy with this outcome. “I guess we shall go back to the havens then”, he suggests. “I imagine you”, he looks at Elrond, “will want to tell Cirdan goodbye before riding towards wherever Imladris is.”<br/>
“You don't know it's location?”, Lindir asks surprised.<br/>
Maglor just shakes his head. “I know the general direction. I've never been there. It is too far away from the sea. Alone, I would have never gone there. Too much possibility to meet other elves.”<br/>
It's the fear again, the one Lindir saw in the old minstrel days ago.<br/>
“You will be safe there”, Elrond declares. “No one will do you harm.”<br/>
It seems like Maglor wants to make a comment, but the old minstrel shuts his mouth without uttering it. Instead, he pushes himself off the ground, using both hands.<br/>
Because of the open gesture, Elrond sees Maglor's burnt hand and the Lord of Imladris gasps. “Ada!”<br/>
The Fëanorion turns towards him, startled by the shocked tone of his adoptive son's voice.<br/>
“What happened with you? Your Hand?”<br/>
Maglor looks at Elrond, a kind expression on his face. “The simaril burn at evil.”<br/>
Lindir, who heard this explanation already, does not like the way Maglor just accepts his scarring. Judging by the tightening of Elrond's fingers around his own, neither does his Lord.<br/>
Still, the healer in his beloved wins over the son. “Will you let me take a closer look when we are in Imladris?”, he asks. By the sound of it, resistance would be futile.<br/>
Maglor realizes this too and just nods. “I would be honoured.”<br/>
Lindir is surprised at Elrond's self control. Had he himself been a healer, he would have wanted to help right away. But the minstrel's knowledge of healing is insignificant. After a few seconds, he also sees the logic in Elrond's proposition. The scars won't get worse than they already are. These are old wounds. A week or more spent travelling won't make a difference. Also, in Imladris, there will be all necessary supplies Elrond will need, if there even is a treatment for such old wounds. Even elves can get scars so bad they won't ever fade.</p>
<p>They make their way slowly back to the havens. They are three elves and one horse, so the trek goes on slowly. Even with the mare carrying all their belongings, they are barely faster than before. Also, it is a mostly silent walk for most of the time. Elrond still sometimes takes Lindir's hand into his own. During the trek, it is hard to keep the chaste contact. The movement makes it awkward.<br/>
They find Maglor's and mostly Lindir's traces one day. It is no wonder Elrond was able to track them down so fast. Even Lindir can still see some trails he and Maglor left, when they were searching for a place to make their camp. If Maglor had been alone, these markings would certainly have been nearly invisible. The old minstrel is clearly used to hiding his trail.</p>
<p>During one break, Elrond asks Maglor about Maedhros. Lindir is at that time close to the old minstrel, helping him prepare some food, so he senses the sudden tension in the air and in Maglor's body.<br/>
“What do you want to know, El-nin.”<br/>
Elrond smiles at the nickname and then grows serious again. “What happened after you transferred me to Gilgalad's care?”<br/>
“The War of Wrath happened. And then the simaril were in our reach again. The Oath was harder on Maedhros than me. He was the first-born. The heir to our cursed house. He never stood a chance. I probably could have refused him, my brother and the Oath both, but I didn't. I could not let him suffer alone.”<br/>
“Why not?”, Lindir interjects. It is a foreign concept for him, to choose the wrong action willingly.<br/>
“If I refused and he'd died, I would have damned him to the void. I would have been alone. Together we had a chance. Thanks to Eönwë we survived, though not for long.”<br/>
Elrond takes the last separating him from them. He grips Maglor around the shoulders. “I am sorry for asking.”<br/>
Maglor shakes his head. “You deserve to know. The morning after, you know, we reclaimed the simaril, I found him gone. When I search his tent, even the golden ribbons were gone, the only thing remaining of Fingon. I knew then. Still, I tried to find him, even though the pain in my hand made me delirious. I followed his footsteps to the cliff and stared down into the fire. The sunken light of the simaril stared back and I knew that I came too late. I threw the other cursed jewel into the sea the next day. Ulmo shall do with it whatever he wants.” There are tears running down Maglor's face now. “I remember the last thing my brother said to me. The Oath now rests. You can live and see our sons grow up to become strong. Promise me, you will sing for them. Of course I promised.”<br/>
By now, Elrond has his arms wrapped around his father and Lindir joins them. Maglor is sobbing inconsolably now, soaking his son's tunic with tears.<br/>
Lindir just hopes this is a sign for it getting better one day for Maglor. The younger minstrel has to hold back some tears himself. The story is just cruel. No elf deserves to be drawn into such despair.</p>
<p>It takes them days to reach the havens on their way back. At first, it was hard to convince Maglor to make the trip over this settlement, but walking the whole way to Imladris wasn’t really an option. They have many short conversations, it is mostly Elrond who asks Maglor what happened to him after the end of the First Age. Sometimes, the old minstrel answers, sometimes he doesn’t.<br/>
Elrond also keeps close to Lindir, but does not instigate a conversation about the feelings the younger minstrel revealed. This makes Lindir a bit itchy. He does not really know what Elrond thinks about it, even though they walk hand in hand sometimes and sit close during the breaks. Lindir hopes it is his Lord’s natural carefulness and not a sign of subtle rejection.</p>
<p>When they arrive at the havens, Maglor asks to stay outside the settlement. He explains he's not ready yet to face elven civilization again. Elrond just nods and accepts it. He does not want to force Maglor into a situation he's not ready for.<br/>
Lindir also know the old minstrel won't desert them. Maglor is an honest ellon, raised to be loyal to his family. Even though it was his downfall once, he still clings to his old habit. It is clear he truly considers Elrond his son. The fatherly love is visible in his eyes. It makes Lindir trust him even more.<br/>
They leave Elrond's mare in Maglor's care for their visit. This way, they don't have to unload the saddle and the Fëanorion has enough food with him, should the meeting with Cirdan take longer than expected. They even find a good place for Maglor to stay in during his wait. There, the old minstrel will be able to hide, should someone come his way or cross his path.<br/>
Lindir and Elrond walk the last bit of distance together, enjoying the other's company, making a bit of small talk.</p>
<p>Lindir and Elrond’s meeting with Cirdan is a positive one. The old shipwright agrees to give them two more horses. He does not wish to delay their travel further. Elrond even informs him of the finding of Maglor. This surprises the other Lord, but he makes no comment, keeping his tongue. Lindir, who has overheard the conversation he had with Elrond at the Mereth Aderthad, understands. They have talked about it before, another discussion would be  a waste of breath.<br/>
“I guess you will take him with you to Imladris?”, asks Cirdan a bit later. “I would offer him a place here at the sea, but it will take time for the next ship to set sail and I don’t think the havens are good option for Maglor. Especially because he won’t even enter the city.”<br/>
“He will come with us to Imladris. I don’t think he’ll want to sail soon”, Elrond answers.<br/>
“Until a few days ago he did not know this was even a possibility”, Lindir adds. “Maybe at a later point in time.”<br/>
Cirdan nods. “My offer still stands. One day, there will be a place for him on the ships.”<br/>
“Thank you”, Elrond says. The gratitude in his eyes is visible.<br/>
The old shipwright smiles a bit. “Also, my congratulations, you found your lost head-minstrel again.”<br/>
Lindir ducks his head. This comment is a bit weird, as if he's missed a previous conversation. He very likely has.<br/>
Elrond ignores his discomfort and grasps his arm tenderly. “I am glad he agreed to come back too.”<br/>
Cirdan seems amused. “Just don’t loose him again. The sulking did not become you.”<br/>
“And sarcasm does not suit you.”<br/>
Both Lords laugh a little.<br/>
Then they get serious again. It is Cirdan who asks the important question. “When will you travel back to Imladris?”<br/>
“Soon”, Elrond answers. “Preferably today. Maglor is still waiting for us outside the village, leaving him there would not be kind.”<br/>
Cirdan nods. “I would have offered you accommodation, but won’t hinder you on continuing towards your home.”<br/>
“Thank you for your understanding”, Elrond says. Lindir nods in agreement.<br/>
“Do you need an escort? There could be orcs around.” Cirdan sounds a bit worried.<br/>
Elrond shakes his head. “My journey towards the havens had been uninterrupted and I travelled alone. No orcs around. Either they are all dead or concentrating somewhere else. Which is something we should investigate soon. Any news from the elves of the Greenwood?”<br/>
“No, no messenger came from them in weeks. It seems like Thranduil is being serious, in closing his borders. He is not the wisest of kings.” Cirdan almost rolls his eyes in annoyance.<br/>
Lindir chuckles at that. He can not contribute much to the conversation between the two Lords, but he can listen. For about a month, he’s been out of the loop of information, because of his ill advised trip to the havens. Even now, he does not regret making the travel, only the reason behind it. Thankfully, nothing has changed much. The absence of the orcs is strange and he agrees with Elrond on the point of it being a cause for concern. If it makes their way back to Imladris safe, he won’t complain though. It could cause problems in the future, but for now Lindir won't get too deep into such disheartening thoughts.<br/>
“So you do not want me to send some warriors with you?”<br/>
Elrond shakes his head. “No. I don’t think it would be something Maglor would appreciate. But if you would, a sword for Lindir would be highly appreciated.”<br/>
Lindir almost wants to disagree. He is not used to carrying a weapon. Truth be told, he has some basic training, but he is far from being a warrior. Even Erestor, who spends most of his time with scholars, would be able to beat him in a fight. Still, he won’t protest. Elrond has his reasons and Lindir would be a fool to question them.<br/>
“That can be arranged”, Cirdan promises.<br/>
“Thank you, My Lord.” Lindir bows a little bit to show his gratefulness.<br/>
“I will also give you two comfortable sleeping mats. The horses will be able to carry them.”</p>
<p>They get two more elven horses, packed with the promised mats and food for the journey. Lindir gets the one with dark brown fur and black mane. He also receives a newly made sword. It is of adequate length and weight, almost perfect for Lindir’s hands. It still feels wrong. The hilt is made out of oak wood, laid in with beautiful silver ornaments. They are of the current styling and the inscriptions on the blade are in modern-day Sindarin, revealing it’s relative short history.<br/>
“It has not seen battle before”, Cirdan reveals. “Hopefully you can keep it that way. It is a gift, so don’t bother trying to give it back.”<br/>
“Thank you”, Lindir says again. He does not mention how inexperienced he is with such a weapon. With any weapon. He hasn’t trained much for years, living the life of a minstrel. Lindir very much hopes he will not be forced to raise the sword in his own defense.<br/>
Then Cirdan bids them farewell at the edge of the havens. In the distance, Maglor is already waiting with Elrond’s horse a few steps away.</p>
<p>Cirdan has given them only two comfortable mats. Either he expected Maglor to be fine with sleeping on the ground or having his own already. The old minstrel certainly does not carry something to make his sleep more comfortable. Elrond recognizes this when they make a place for them to stay the night. No one of them wants to risk falling asleep while riding. Especially Maglor is cause for concern. Lindir sees the old ellon struggle with riding after a few hours. He makes Elrond aware of the fact the Feanorion has not ridden a horse in the last six thousand years, maybe longer.<br/>
They find a relative secure place atop a hill, underneath some trees. Even the horses are happy for the rest they are about to get.<br/>
When the dilemma with the sleeping mats arises, Elrond makes Maglor take one first.<br/>
“I am going to take the first watch”, the elven Lord declares. Lindir wants him to reconsider, but that would be stupid. Maglor is obviously exhausted and he himself has no training.<br/>
Elrond helps him to prepare the second mat, going so far as to offer him the second blanket. This is where Lindir draws the line. He makes the Lord take it. The night is going to be a cold one and he does not want Elrond to freeze.<br/>
“Do not worry. I am used to it”, the Lord of Imladris tries to placate his minstrel, but Lindir won't have it.<br/>
“I don't need it, I lived through cold nights before.” Lindir has. When he was still living with his parents, the winters were often harsh and unforgiving. He just doesn't like to talk about it. The elves in his childhood home village survived those nights without much problems, being more resilient. The humans however either froze to death or caught an illness which led to the same outcome.<br/>
In the end, Elrond relents and takes the second blanket. While they were discussing, Maglor lit a small fire. When Lindir meets his eyes, the old minstrel winks at him, before retreating to his own mat. Lindir just eases himself down and tries to get calm.<br/>
Then the matress dips down on one edge a bit. Instantly, Lindir's eyes are wide open again. He's facing the other side however and he doesn't want to turn around abruptly. The warmth of the other body seeps through the thin blanket covering Lindir's feet. The minstrel located on the ground has the urge to shift his toes closer to the other person. He restrains himself. It would be uncalled for to breach Elrond's personal space. He's sure it is the Lord, it can't be anyone else.<br/>
It is Elrond, who shifts again. He scoots back a little. Now his warmth is pressing against Lindir's feet. The minstrel remains still.<br/>
“You are still awake, Lindir”, Elrond suddenly whispers. “Are you alright?”<br/>
The concern in his voice let's Lindir's heart swell. “Yes”, he answers. “Just. Everything that happened in the last week. It's been so much.”<br/>
Elrond touches his upper leg with a hand. “I understand.”<br/>
“Just a few days ago, I did not think I would ever see you again. Or if..” Lindir's voice breaks.<br/>
“You are always welcome in the valley, my dear one”, Elrond explains. “It was not you I was upset about that night. The reactions of the other elves were upsetting. I did not wish you to feel bad.”<br/>
Lindir now turns onto his back. Elrond is actually sitting next to his feet on the mat. The older elf is watching him carefully, the glances like caresses. The minstrel closes his eyes. “I didn't know what to do”, he sobs silently.<br/>
“I am glad I found you”, Elrond whispers.<br/>
The Lord then realizes how cold Lindir's feet have become. “You are freezing, my dear”, he remarks softly.<br/>
Lindir does not know how to respond to this statement. He wants to curl around Elrond, to share warmth, but he is holding himself back and let's the Lord decide their pace. With Elrond usage of the endearments, Lindir's mind finally accepts that his attraction may be returned, but he can't bring himself to act on it. The minstrel just nods.<br/>
Elrond shifts farther back. Then, suddenly, he leans in and carefully puts an arm underneath Lindir's lower legs. By now, the minstrel's heart is racing. His feet are still icy, but his face is burning. Elrond lifts his frozen appendages and pulls them into the warmth of his lap.<br/>
It is heavenly and Lindir sighs. He finally falls asleep with his Lord warming his feet and heart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Coming home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Lindir wakes up, he is alone on his mat. Some time during the night, Elrond and Maglor must have switched the duties of the watch.  It is the old minstrel, who sits awake at the newly erected fireplace. The Fëanorion looks better rested than Lindir feels himself, even though he has gotten more sleep. Elrond lies asleep on the mattress Maglor once occupied.<br/>Lindir sit himself up, remembering the warming of his feet. It feels like a dream, but somehow he knows it to be the truth. This has happened.<br/>By now, Maglor has realized he's awake. The second son of Fëanor holds a finger to his lips, signalling at Elrond.<br/>Lindir nods. He suspects his Lord's watch lasted longer than reasonable, seeing Lindir had not been woken up to do his share. He could protest such favouritism, but he doesn’t. Lindir is not a warrior. Should they be attacked in the night, it is better for someone with training to be the one defending. Still, whilst wandering at the sea, he and Maglor always had shared the duty, so not doing it seems wrong.<br/>The next evening, Lindir volunteers to take over the first watch and the other two elves don’t protest. </p><p>The border guards under Glorfindel’s command find them before they can even cross the Bruinen. The golden Lord has been riding out himself for the past days, some of them murmur. Erestor has not been amused, the rumour goes.<br/>Glorfindel rides up to Elrond almost as soon as he spies him. Lindir, who is riding next to his Lord, can hear every word.<br/>“I know Erestor encouraged you to go after our lost minstrel. But I do not remember him telling you to run off alone!”<br/>“He told me to go as fast as I can”, Elrond shrugs. “A contingent of warriors would have been slow and also not really subtle.”<br/>Glorfindel rolls his eyes in response, clearly fed up with Elrond’s excuses. Then the Lord of the Golden Flower sees Maglor behind them and makes a grab for his sword. The Lord of Imladris stops him.<br/>“Do you realize who this is?”<br/>Elrond sighs. “My adoptive father, Kanafinwё Makalaurё, also known as Maglor Fёanorion. You wont harm him, Glorfindel.”<br/>The golden haired warrior nods. “I see. Erestor warned me of your past being complicated. I never would have expected this.”<br/>Elrond smiles. “It is. I would appreciate if you would not try to get revenge for something that happened in the First Age. Whatever your personal problems with my ada may be.”<br/>Lindir is glad to see the softening of Glorfindel’s eyes. For a moment the young minstrel feared for the worst. He doesn’t know where the Golden Lord’s grievances with Maglor lie, but he hopes they will remain peaceful. A fight between Glorfindel and Maglor would be a sight to see, both of them are great warriors, but only on friendly terms. Lindir does not wish for blood to be spilled.<br/>Maglor finally speak up: “Lord Glorfindel. I am sorry for the pain my house and it’s actions have caused you.”<br/>Glorfindel shakes his head. “I am furious at your father, for believing Morgoth’s lies and leading an ill rebellion, slaying kin and forcing his sons to take the Oath. I do not trust you, because of the latter and your actions under it’s force. You pose a threat to the peace of Imladris. If you become violent again, it is my duty to stop you.”<br/>“It’s only fair”, Maglor says before Elrond can interject. “I will hold you to it.”</p><p>During their ride, Elrond talks mostly with Maglor about the past, catching the Fёanorion up to date.<br/>They begin at the most recent problems with Sauron, which gives Lindir some more insight on what he’s missed in terms of politics.<br/>“Thranduil, that subborn bastard, went with his army to Erebor”, Elrond complains. “I tried to find out what folly drove him. In the message I got in return, he told me something about undisciplined dwarves and stupid orcs.”<br/>“That sounds like Thranduil, alright”, Lindir agrees. “Though I would agree with his assessment of Durin’s folk.”<br/>“In the end, it was a strange turn of fate, for him to be there. Can you imagine the premise? In the beginning it was elves and men against two dwarfish factions and then the orcs came and these two enemies united? I am thankful for Imladris having no piece in these squabbles.”<br/>Maglor chuckles. “Must have been a nightmare. Even in Beleriand we weren’t that petty and disorganized. Sauron must have had a good laugh with his enemies killing each other.”<br/>“This battle also means we underestimated his strength, unfortunately”, Elrond sighs. “Another fight will happen as soon as the Ring is found.”<br/>“Which one of them?”<br/>“The One.”<br/>“I thought it was destroyed?”<br/>Elrond sighs. “It seems you missed the last three thousand years of important elven history. I can't blame you though. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.”<br/>“Maybe”, Maglor concedes. “After my nephew’s death I lost most of my interest in keeping up to date. I only heard of Gilgalad's death by chance.”<br/>“The losses of Celebrimbor and later Gilgalad were a tragedy. I had not much dealings with your nephew and can best remember the warning Gilgalad gave him. I never blamed him though. Alas, to be fair, not much has happened after the Last Alliance and the rural townspeople would not know about it. The ring survived unfortunately. I can give you a short overview, ada.”<br/>This takes longer than expected and Lindir only listens in. He knows much of what happened and his own view is nothing interesting. Hearing Elrond’s recollection of the aftermath of the Last Alliance is.<br/>“Why did you not destroy the One Ring in the mountain?”, Maglor asks a bit later.<br/>Elrond closes his eyes. “Many have asked me this question. But think about it, would I have had a chance against someone willing to use the ring? Against the fighter Isildur was? And what would have come of it if I had succeeded in killing him? War again, between the elves and men this time, for the betrayal by my hands. Still, sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I acted differently.”<br/>Maglor swallows. He, like Lindir, realizes this is an open wound still for the elven Lord. “I am sorry. Both choices were bad. For what it is worth, I think you made the correct one.”</p><p>Riding back through the gate into the courtyard of Imladris feels like taking a fresh breath. The valley is still covered in the mist of the night. It is a sight to behold. <br/>Maglor tries to hide himself when they are entering the valley. Believing his retelling, this is the first time he is setting his foot in an elven settlement since the beginning of his wandering. No wonder he’s shy. Lindir wants to hide too, but he rides beside Elrond. The Lord made it clear this is to be his place. Not behind Elrond, next to him.<br/>Nobody is surprised by his return. Some of the other young minstrels are welcoming him with open arms. They don't spare Maglor any attention, they are too young to know his face and probably have ignored most stories about this particular Fëanorion.<br/>Elrond is welcomed by Erestor, who seems not amused but relieved by the return of the Lord. He immediately grabs the old ellon's attention, which leaves Lindir without much to do. The minstrel looks at Maglor, who sits on his horse, looking lost.<br/>“Let's get them to the stables”, Lindir proposes.<br/>Maglor just nods and follows Lindir's lead.</p><p>On the second day after their arrival back in Imladris, Elrond seeks out Lindir. The minstrel has been hiding in his rooms again. Somehow, his old home had not been repurposed in his absence, by the looks of it no one even entered it. There is dust gathered on almost all surfaces and Lindir needs to clean everything thoroughly.<br/>This is how Elrond finds him, surrounded by a cloud of dust.<br/>“Lindir?”, the Lord asks and his minstrel blushes.<br/>“My Lord Elrond”, he answers as politely as he can. Of course, Lindir rather wants an embrace. Whilst travelling, he’s gotten accustomed to sharing his beloved’s space and now he’s missing it. Yesterday, he hadn’t met Elrond and it pulls at his heartstrings.<br/>“I am sorry for not being able to meet you yesterday”, Elrond says as if he’d read Lindir’s mind. “Unfortunately a lot of work accumulated during our time away and some of it had to be taken care of as soon as possible.”<br/>“I understand”, Lindir says. He truly does. He’s seen how much work his Lord always has. It is a lot and even with Erestor’s and Lindir’s help his beloved had to remain in his office for almost half the night before. “How can I help you?”<br/>Elrond steps closer and embraces Lindir from behind. The minstrel feels how his Lord buries his nose in his hair and breathes in deeply. Lindir relaxes into the touch. Being allowed to touch and being touched in return is a heavenly feeling.<br/>Then Elrond pulls back and they share a chaste kiss.<br/>“I could use your help indeed.”<br/>Lindir nods. “Of course.”<br/>“Do you know where Maglor hides? I have been trying to find him for all of yesterday’s freetime and was not able to find him. I wasn’t even able to offer him appropriate accomodation.”<br/>“The last time I saw him, he was with your mare in the stables. He may be hiding there still.” Lindir looks down at the floor again. He left Maglor there a day ago. He should have tried to have an eye on the old minstrel, to make sure of his well-being. He should -<br/>“Thank you, Lindir. Can you get him? I have issued an order to prepare a room in the family wing for him. It should be done by now. He’s my father after all and deserves much, but I fear he’s still not sure of his own welcome and my good intentions.”<br/>“I’ll get him”, Lindir promises. “Which room is it?”<br/>“Celebrian’s old room, where she dwelled before I married her.”<br/>Lindir nods, even though he almost flinches at the mention of the Lady. “I will talk to Maglor, but it may take some time for him to agree to follow me. Is it alright if I take some fresh fruit to him?”<br/>“You don’t even have to ask.”</p><p>Maglor is in the stables, just as Lindir knew he would be. Elrond is by now back in the office. Somehow, Malgor’s return is not a secret among the elves and some letters have arrived. Nothing spells disaster, which is positive.<br/>“Maglor?”, Lindir asks in a low tone. He’s crawled up to the attic where the hay is stored, knowing this is where the old minstrel resides.<br/>“I am over here.”<br/>Maglor has made himself a nest out of hay, in the darkest corner of the attic. It is not really comfortable, but better than the blank floor. Still, it is unacceptable.<br/>“You don’t have to stay here”, Lindir says. He’s given up pressuring Maglor to do something. It did not work in the first week knowing him, in all likelihood it never will. Positive offers seem to be working much better. “There is a bed waiting for you, courtesy of Elrond.”<br/>Maglor looks at Lindir, surprised. “Where?”<br/>“In one of the buildings there is an empty room waiting for you. Your son would like to see you there.”<br/>Surprisingly, Maglor agrees to follow Lindir to his new rooms without further question. They timed it so that most elves are taking their meal and not many pass them by.<br/>When they are nearing the guards at the entry of the family wing, Maglor stops. “Where are you taking me?”<br/>His eyes shine with fear. It takes a few moments for Lindir to understand. Guards would signal prison for the old minstrel. He grabs the old ellon’s hand in reassurance. “It’s the family wing, Maglor. Elrond wants to have you near. Also, there’s not much foot traffic, so you will be able to get accustomed to Imladris.”<br/>The breath of relief Maglor releases, tells Lindir how correct he was.</p><p>In the following days, Lindir and Elrond help Maglor to get settled. So far, Elrond has not talked with Maglor about the scars left by the simaril, but Lindir thinks it’s only a matter of time.<br/>Meanwhile, Lindir takes Maglor to the bathroom in the family wing. It is big, fed by the waterfalls around Imladris. The waters is fresh this time of the year, but Maglor must be used to colder temperatures. Whilst the old minstrel is taking a bath, Lindir readies new clothes for the wanderer. He’s talked with Elrond about it, deciding on robes in a style worn in the First Age. It will set Maglor apart from the population of Imladris, but also will certainly more comfortable for him.<br/>Elrond even offers an old cloak, embroidered with a Fёanorian star. The fabric looks old. When Lindir asks his beloved about it, the story surprises him.<br/>“When I went out to search for ada, long ago, Celebrian made this cloak for him. Insisting I take it with me to offer it to him. I never found him, but kept her work.”</p><p>His first meeting with Erestor after his return is a strange affair. The chief councillor is working in his office, when Lindir knocks carefully on the door. Elrond already told him the adviser wanted to see him, but the minstrel had waited for a few days before making the visit. Of course, he's seen Erestor at the mealtimes, but they haven't spoken so far.<br/>“Come in!”, the councillor's voice sounds from the inside of the office.<br/>Lindir pushes the gate open and enters the room. It hasn't changed since his last visit. At least not much. There's still the second table set up. The one Erestor gave to Lindir so long ago. When the minstrel looks closer, he sees it hasn't been touched, except to dust it.<br/>“Welcome back, Lindir”, Erestor says. He sits behind his own desk, which is covered with letters.<br/>Lindir bows. “Lord Councillor”, he answers in greeting. Once, he and Erestor were almost friends, but now he doesn't know where they are standing. In the overall hierarchy of Imladris, Lindir is far beneath the adviser.<br/>An undignified huff draws him from his dark thoughts. “We were past this stage already. Have my words hurt you so deeply, my friend? I apologize.”<br/>“I did not know if you would forgive me for the transgression. I would be honoured to call you friend once again.”<br/>Erestor stands up and walks over to Lindir. The councillor offers an embrace and the minstrel accepts. Embracing is something rarely done and Erestor being the one to initiate it is unheard of. Generally, elves are very conscious about personal space.<br/>“Walk a bit with me?”, Erestor asks.<br/>Lindir nods and follows the chief councillor out of the room. Soon, they are in the garden again. It is the garden they had their last conversation in. They stop at the exact spot.<br/>“I apologize. I never wanted to chase you out of Imladris”, Erestor says.<br/>Lindir looks over the plants growing next to him. “It is not your fault. You were right to reprimand me. I acted without thinking.”<br/>“Do you know, how hard it was to deal with Elrond after your disappearance? You nearly broke him, when you rode out with the elves towards the havens. He made me responsible for your flight and I told him if he acted sooner, this would not have happened. We had a big fight, until Glorfindel stepped in. He encouraged Elrond to go after you in the end, going even so far as to give Cirdan a message for you.”<br/>“I owe him thanks. I am also sorry to hear about your fight with Elrond.”<br/>Erestor nods. “We apologized to each other before he rode out. I am glad he found you.”<br/>“I am glad too”, Lindir says and smiles. Then he frowns. “What message? I never received one.”</p><p>Lindir asks Elrond that evening. They are having a private meal in the Lord's chambers, far away from the main hall. They wanted privacy for their still new courtship. Lindir organized a good bottle of wine for the night, a debt owed to him by another minstrel.<br/>After they ate their meals in mostly silence, they go over to the couch and sit down comfortably on it. Of course, they have the wine with them, drinking it in small sips.<br/>“Erestor told me something about a message you gave Cirdan for me”, Lindir relays. He leans against Elrond's shoulder, closing his eyes a bit. Their fingers intertwine.<br/>Elrond puts his glass, which he had been holding with his left hand, down. His head comes to rest against Lindir's. “Yes”, he says. “I spoke with Cirdan mind-to-mind. The morning before your performance. He told me he would deliver it to you early the next day. He did not want to jeopardize your big night.”<br/>Lindir wants to weep, for he certainly caused his Love so much distress.<br/>Elrond makes a sad face. “You were gone the morning he wanted to talk to you.”<br/>“I am sorry. I heard Maglor's voice that night and decided to follow him.”<br/>“In a certain way, I am glad for the way you took. I brought Maglor back to me”, Elrond says.<br/>Lindir nods. “Still, my decisions, they hurt you.”<br/>“They did.” These words sting in Lindir's ears, but he is aware he deserves this truth. “But my actions were not fair to you either, for a long time. I hope we will be able to overcome this past together.”<br/>Lindir smiles. “I think, we will be able to.” He offers his right hand for Elrond to take it. It is a romantic gesture and for a moment the minstrel fears his lover will not accept it. But then their fingers intertwine and the moment feels perfect. Lindir smiles and leans against his beloved.</p><p>They start their courtship after some discussion of their individual wishes. Elrond makes it clear his children come first for him, all four of them. Lindir did count on this, it is no surprise. He hopes Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen and Estel will be able to accept him at their father's side one day. Also, Elrond is still the Lord of Imladris and will have to perform his duties. Consequences of this Lindir has to be aware can be hurtful, even if the Lord does not want them to be so. Also, Elrond is a trained warrior and bids Lindir to not talk him out of it. Also, even there is no prospect of them ever marrying. By elven standards, Celebrian is still Elrond's wife, even if they split up centuries ago. She also holds a place in the Lord's heart and Lindir does not even want to usurp her place. He heard stories of her and she must have been a wonderful elleth.<br/>All this, Lindir can live with. On his part, he tells Elrond not to expect him to change. He's a minstrel foremost, he will continue to perform and be there for his fellow musicians. Also, in public spaces, he will continue to address Elrond as Lord. He's been taught proper deference and he's unlikely to change. He bids Elrond not to try to talk him out of it, it did not work the last time and just increased the spiralling of Lindir's thoughts. If he's going to loose this habit, it will be a natural process.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter will be delayed, due to irl work stuff.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Courtship</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for your comments and patience over the last two weeks! For the last few chapters, I should be able to update regularly again.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The courtship between Lord Elrond of Imladris and Lindir, the head minstrel, starts very traditional. Even though both confessed their feelings before returning to the valley, they go slowly. After setting each other's boundaries in a private conversation, they begin spending more time with each other.</p>
<p class="western">For Lindir, this does not change his schedule much, even if he is by now reinstated as the head minstrel. At first, he did not want to the up the position again, but his fellow musicians asked him. Lindir, being who he is, wasn't able to refuse. He is very aware though of the concessions Elrond makes for him. The young minstrel knows how busy his Lord's schedule is, having worked with him in the past. Some of those duties, poor Erestor has now to cover. Erestor, who is by now starting to plan his own wedding, is cursing this. Nobody is making a big deal out of it, but during Lindir’s absence, he managed to accept Glorfindel’s proposal. When Elrond asked them, when they were having the feast, he expected a dismissive answer. Instead, Erestor’s reply came fast. “In the next two months would be great.”</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">They begin where they left off, in the gardens where Elrond gave Lindir the white rose.</p>
<p class="western">“Are you aware of the sentiments associated with these flowers?”, Elrond asks Lindir.</p>
<p class="western">The minstrel blushes again. He knows of them. “There are many, my Lord”, he answers. “Most of them are about youthfulness and innocence.”</p>
<p class="western">Elrond actually smiles. “It is also a sign for a new beginning and young love.”</p>
<p class="western">This is so sweet, Lindir nearly cries.</p>
<p class="western">“What did you think I wanted to convey, my dear?”</p>
<p class="western">Lindir swallows. “I thought it to be a commentary on my perceived innocence and relative youth. I knew, of course, of the other meanings, but did not believe these were on your mind.”</p>
<p class="western">“Believe me, they were”, Elrond says and his eyes convey his sincerity. “I am sorry for the mixed signals, I will try to do better in the future.”</p>
<p class="western">“It is not your fault. It was mine for always assuming the worst.”</p>
<p class="western">Elrond looks sad for a moment, but then he smiles. “Would you allow me to hug you?”, he asks. “It is your decision how we progress with this courtship.”</p>
<p class="western">“I would like this very much”, Lindir answers and steps forward into Elrond’s waiting arms.</p>
<p class="western">The embrace feels warm and wonderful. Lindir is a bit smaller than his Lord is, so he presses his face against Elrond’s chest. The robe he is wearing is made out of a dark soft fabric. It’s surface is shining with the light of the afternoon sun but still fresh against Lindir’s cheek. The outer fabric heats up with the temperature of his body though. Underneath the layers, the minstrel can feel his beloved’s heart beat. It is a steady and comforting rhythm and Lindir listens to it while enjoying the closeness. They do not talk for a long while, basking in the beauty of the moment.</p>
<p class="western">When Lindir looks up again, their eyes meet and lock. Neither wants to pull back and Lindir pushes himself up with his toes. It does not make much of a difference, but it is enough for their lips to almost brush.</p>
<p class="western">With a strange burst of courage, Lindir leans inward. “Is this alright?”, he asks. He feels more than he sees Elrond smile gently.</p>
<p class="western">“Of course”, his beloved answers. He does not push forward. Instead, the Lord waits for Lindir to make the first step.</p>
<p class="western">Lindir, who is painfully shy, almost looses his courage. He is aware why Elrond is giving him the control over their courtship. There is a significant age and power imbalance between them and the elven Lord would never pressure Lindir into anything. Hence this careful waiting. <span>Lindir appreciates this for the most part. This moment, he wishes for the opposite.</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>I</span>
  <span>t is their first kiss and it is a bit awkward. </span>
  <span>At first, the angle is wrong and their noses push against each other. </span>
  <span>Lindir blushes and pulls back a bit. </span>
  <span>He is happy, when Elrond follows his lips for a while. </span>
  <span>The Lord has his eyes closed and seems to be savouring the kiss. </span>
  <span>He opens his eyes again, when he feels Lindir pull back. He looks very patiently in Lindir’s own and waits.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The minstrel smiles shyly and leans in for another chaste kiss. This one already is better and feels right. </span>
  <span>He could get used to pressing their lips together.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Lindir wants to do something for his beloved in the spirit of the courtship. The problem he has is in finding an idea. As Lord of Imladris, his new partner is already in the possession of everything an elf could want. Lindir is aware he is not required to find something. Elrond already told him he does not expect expensive gifts or such the like.</p>
<p class="western">So, unable to find anything suitable, Lindir gives Elrond time. At first, the idea sounds ridiculous, but he considers it anyway. Lindir, as minstrel has generally many free hours every day, but his beloved it the Lord of this place and as such has many things that require his attention. Lindir will need Erestor’s help to restructure Elrond’s schedule.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">“You want to do what?” Erestor’s tone suggests surprise and disbelief.</p>
<p class="western">Lindir does not look into the adviser’s eyes. “Give Elrond time as a courtship gift.”</p>
<p class="western">Erestor sighs. “And why are you telling me this? I do not need deep information of your developing relationship.”</p>
<p class="western">It sounds biting to Lindir’s ears, but a portion of his mind understands. Erestor and Glorfindel had been very discreet and did not tell anyone for a long while. For the longest time, no one even knew they were courting. It seems Erestor is a bit uncomfortable with talking about romance, but not shy to encourage it.</p>
<p class="western">“I need your help to restructure Elrond’s schedule.”</p>
<p class="western">“You are serious then. You are aware this will result in much more work for the chief adviser, who I am.”</p>
<p class="western">“Please, Erestor. This is important.”</p>
<p class="western">“Fine. I am certain we can work something out. But not now.” Erestor is looking down at a sheet of paper in front of him. From his position, Lindir can’t decipher the words on it, but it seems to be some kind of timetable.</p>
<p class="western">“You can come by after mealtime and we can discuss your ideas”, the adviser then relents.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Lindir does as he’s bid. He knocks on Erestor’s door and lets himself in. The adviser is already waiting for him.</p>
<p class="western">“Ah, Lindir”, the dark haired ellon greets. “Come on in.”</p>
<p class="western">Erestor drives a hard bargain with Lindir. The minstrel thinks it’s a bit too much, but he does not comment on it. He does not need to antagonize the chief adviser.</p>
<p class="western">“All your ideas so far suggest more work for me”, Erestor growls.</p>
<p class="western">“You could give some of it to the other advisers and scribes”, Lindir suggests. “Many of them would like to take over more important tasks, I imagine.”</p>
<p class="western">Erestor shakes his head. “The other advisers are mostly handling the internal affairs of Imladris, like building houses and the production of food, the trade… None of them are equipped to handle the contact to the outside settlements and realms. And Elrond or I still need to approve their general work too.”</p>
<p class="western">“And the scribes?”</p>
<p class="western">“They have a beautiful script, but no mind for politics. Believe me, I tried to train some of them, but it was hopeless.” Erestor sighs. “And I will have to send out the wedding announcements out too. Soon.”</p>
<p class="western">Lindir is aware of this approaching next feast. “Th<span>at</span> I could help you with, or the other scribes for that matter. You and Glorfindel would just have to sign them.”</p>
<p class="western">Erestor smiles. “Alright. For this, I will take over some of Elrond’s work next week. This should afford you with some <span>a whole afternoon at the beginning of next week</span>.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you so much, Erestor. Just one question. Why do you want your marriage to be so soon? I mean, I don’t mind, but traditionally..”</p>
<p class="western">Erestor shakes his head. “Glorfindel and I, we’ve know each other for ages. Literally. Waiting one year just for tradition’s sake would just be stupid, at least we agreed to it. Just a reminder for you Lindir: We elves usually do not care for time, except when we start to run out of it. Make the most of what you get.”</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Lindir carefully plans what to do with the time given to him and Elrond. He does not tell his partner about the magically free time he will be having soon, for fear of someone interfering. Erestor readily agrees to the secrecy. Everything else, Lindir is able to arrange himself. Unfortunately, he is not able to see Elrond as much as he wants to in those few days. It seems like the work has accumulated during the Lord’s absence and it will still take days to catch up.</p>
<p class="western">When the day finally arrives, Lindir is prepared. He talked with Erestor beforehand on how to get Elrond to agree to the minstrel’s plans. Lindir does not know how to interpret the mischievous sparkle in the wise ellon’s eyes. To be honest, he’s afraid of which tactic Erestor will apply.</p>
<p class="western">Lindir has his hand raised to knock when the door opens and Elrond stands directly in front of him. The Lord of Imladris does not really look surprised, just overworked.</p>
<p class="western">“And don’t you dare to come back into this office today!”, Erestor’s voice can be heard from within the room.</p>
<p class="western">Elrond just sighs defeated. “I should sent him to the dungeon for a few hours”, the elven Lord chuckles. “He threw me out of my own office.”</p>
<p class="western">Instead of doing so, Elrond lets the door close behind him and walks a step towards Lindir. They embrace for a short while, until the minstrel pulls back.</p>
<p class="western">“Seeing as you have the rest of the day off, would you mind accompanying me?”, he asks, keeping his tone playful. There is now way for his lover to have missed the conspiracy between Lindir and Erestor, but he is apparently not upset about it.</p>
<p class="western">Elrond actually smiles more. “I would love to see what you have planned.” It is enough of a concession to let Lindir know he knows.</p>
<p class="western">Seeing as there are no other elves in the direct vicinity, Lindir makes the bold move to take Elrond’s hand and pulls him slightly along. “I think you will like it”, he offers.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Lindir leads his partner to the hot springs of Imladris. At this time of the year, the temperatures drop in the evening and the location of them is clouded in faint wisps of mist. The air smells of the clear water and the wetness clinging to each breath. There are not many other elves there enjoying the baths, but one pond is completely empty. It is the one hidden behind a slightly raised rock formation and is reserved for the Lord of Imladris and maybe his guests. <span>Elrond never decreed this, but somehow it became a tradition and right now, Lindir is very glad of this. It allowed him to prepare the outside of the pond as he wanted to.</span></p>
<p class="western">“<span>Is this all your doing?”, Elrond asks surprised as soon as he can see what his partner has done.</span></p>
<p class="western">“Yes. I assumed you would enjoy some relaxation after all the work you did in the past days.”</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>There are think towels stacked on the side of the pool. </span>
  <span>Next to them, a small basket is placed, which contains two bottles and four glasses. One of the bottles contains a liquid that is quite obviously some water. The other contains a red drink. The bottle does not look like a traditional wine bottle though. </span>
  <span>Also, there are small pots with different flowers placed around the water. With their typical elven sensitivity, both males can smell the faint fragrance they give off. Lindir also took the liberty of placing several smaller bottles with scented oils on the edge of the pool.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>It is a beautiful scene”, Elrond says in a hushed tone. “And you did all of this for me.” A bit of disbelief swings in the voice.</span></p>
<p class="western">Lindir just nods. “Of course. You deserve so much. I thought a bath would be a good start for the evening.”</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Elrond’s body language conveys gratefulness and the Lord leans over and press a small kiss against Lindir’s lips. </span>
  <span>The minstrel grips his lovers arms and deepens the kiss. When they pull back, both of their faces are flushed.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“<span>If you would allow me, I would help you get undressed”, Lindir offers.</span></p>
<p class="western">Elrond nods. They both now they are not ready for more, this is only bathing. It leaves Lindir with the task he asked for.</p>
<p class="western">Helping Elrond undress is something he’s dreamed about before. He’s aware he will only actually help with the robes, like any good servant would, but it’s enough.</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Soon, they both are naked and enter the pool of water. At first, Lindir is hesitant. He meant this to be for his beloved only, but Elrond pulls him in. </span>
  <span>The water is warm, a temperature that does not hurt nor chill. </span>
  <span>He hears his lover sigh, when he sits down onto a bench underwater. </span>
  <span>Lindir follows Elrond’s example and makes himself comfortable. He sits a few feet away as to not invade his Lord’s space. As it happens, Elrond does not like this hesitance at all. The Lord takes the initiative and slides closer.<br/>“Are you comfortable with this?”, Elrond asks. It makes Lindir’s heart soar. His lover has the same anxieties about going to far too fast. </span>
  <span>Of putting pressure on him.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Lindir smiles and looks directly into Elrond’s eyes. “Yes. Totally.” </span>
  <span>He leans against his beloved’s shoulder and relishes the moment.</span>
</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>L</span>
  <span>ater, they treat each other with the bathing oils Lindir has prepared, massaging the scent into each other’s skins. </span>
  <span>They spent the rest of the evening curled together in Elrond’s rooms, trading stories.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Elrond invites Lindir to his quarters for dinner the next day. They are both not in the mood for the bustling of the main hall or for eating alone. These days, Elrond’s high table is mostly empty this time of the day. Erestor and Glorfindel prefer to use these minutes for their own private moments. It is the most they can get. The rest of the days, the golden Lord is training his soldiers and Erestor is buried in paperwork and important messages. For Lindir and Elrond, it is not very different. Most of the time, the Lord of Imladris has much to do and Lindir is delegating the minstrels. They are working on studying the songs for the upcoming wedding. Surprisingly, Erestor has commanded Lindir to not make a performance at the feast.</p>
<p class="western">“Even if it is you job, you deserve one feast you do not have to worry about playing music. If you want to coordinate the others though, this would be appreciated.”</p>
<p class="western">Lindir did not even protest. He’s a bit anxious about performing in Imladris again. In the havens, he had been alright, but being home again fills him with a strange feeling.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">“How is your work with the other minstrels going?” The question is innocent enough, but Lindir has a lot on his mind. So far, <span>they are discussing the songs to study for the upcoming wedding of Glorfindel and Erestor.</span></p>
<p class="western">
  <span>He tells Elrond as much. Then, he adds: “</span>
  <span>I may want to introduce Maglor to the other minstrels. Do you think he will react favourably to me inviting him?”</span>
</p>
<p class="western">Elrond thinks about it for a while. “I don’t know. So far, he’s been keeping to himself. More elves to talk to would be great for him, but I do not know if he’s ready. Are your colleagues aware he’s here? His arrival was quiet.”</p>
<p class="western">“They are aware. Some asked me about him and I told them he’s under your protection and maybe one day they can meet him.”</p>
<p class="western">“You may ask him, but do not anticipate a positive answer. How is your own music coming along?”</p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Lindir averts his gaze. </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>I haven’t played my harp for quite a while now. There’s so much else to do and the weekly performance I leave to the younger members of the craft. </span>
  <span>I do not think I will play in front of an audience any time soon.</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p class="western">“Oh. I would like to hear you play and sing again”</p>
<p class="western">“I would need a lot of practice to feel comfortable with a larger audience again”, Lindir confesses. “The last time, it ended – you know the story.”</p>
<p class="western">Elrond nods. “I understand.”</p>
<p class="western">“But, you could sit beside me, when I practice”, Lindir offers. It is not an offer lightly made. In the past few years, he has preferred to do this on his own, except if he was preparing for a joint concert.</p>
<p class="western">“I would like this very much.”</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Two days later, Lindir brings his harp over to Elrond’s rooms. They have been meeting there most often. It offers much more space and privacy than any other space they could have chosen. The evening before, they also spent there, each occupied with their own hobbies. Elrond was reading some new mannish book Estel had gifted him and Lindir sorted through his music sheets. The day in between, Lindir had used to talk with Maglor again. He got some insight on which pieces the old Fёanorion played for the twins in their youth. He’s glad to hear the other minstrel never gave up music in those dark days.</p>
<p class="western">Now, Lindir has a pretty good grasp on the music his beloved has grown up with. Thus, he has prepared a few of the songs Maglor had suggested. So far, he hasn’t invited the other minstrel to join the musicians of Imladris. It had not felt like the right moment. When talking with the old ellon, Lindir gets the impression he is doing fine right now.</p>
<p class="western">Elrond loves the small session he witnesses with Lindir in private. He comments on almost every song his musically talented lover plays.</p>
<p class="western">“This one, Maglor played when bringing me and Elros to bed some evenings. When we were too troubled to fall asleep quickly.”</p>
<p class="western">Lindir sets his harp down and brings his arm around <span>his partner</span>, who is sitting to his right. “I will play it for you whenever you need.”</p>
<p class="western">“Thank you”, Elrond says. His tone conveys his gratitude. His eyes drift towards the window and he begins to speak again. “I can remember one night, <span>assassins came to take out our fathers. </span><span>I never found out to whom they owed their allegiance and I was too young to understand at that time. They managed to pass through the camp, because they were wearing the F</span><span>ё</span><span>anorian colours. The slew two guards and injured Maedhros badly. </span><span>Me and Elros were helpless, watching it. </span><span>Maglor played for long that night.”</span></p>
<p class="western">Lindir presses against Elrond. There is so much pain in his beloved’s past and it makes him see the strength in his Lord and lover more. “I am sorry for waking those memories.”</p>
<p class="western">“<span>Don’t be sorry. It is a past I have come to terms with.”</span></p>
<p class="western">“You never talk much about your history”, Lindir says.</p>
<p class="western">Elrond turns his head and lays his left arm around Lindir’s shoulders. “For long, my sight on the end of the First Age was not a popular one. I am used to not speaking about my fathers.”</p>
<p class="western">“<span>Let me tell you about my family, then”, Lindir offers and begins speaking.</span></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Moving In and On</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you soo much for the kudos and comments on the previous chapter! You are awesome!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">They tell Elrond’s children about the progress of their courtship some days later over dinner. The twins and Estel have just returned from a hunt. Arwen is there, too. She is smiling happily, it is likely she assumes already. It is the first time Lindir is joining them at the Lord’s table and his heart is already in his throat because of it.</p><p class="western">The talk goes over relatively smoothly. All listen and are quiet. Luckily Arwen and Estel are very accepting of their father’s new relationship.</p><p class="western">For Estel, who is of mostly human descent, taking a new partner after the loss of the previous one is not a foreign concept. He just nods and does not make a fuss about it. Thankfully, he’s been raised by elves, so he does not pass the judgement his kin would.</p><p class="western"><span>Arwen </span><span>is enthusiastic. Instead of being reserved, she almost laughs.</span><span> She already tried once to push the minstrel and her father together, shortly after Dol Guldur, </span><span>Lindir can remember this well. </span><span>Now he can place her insistence to tend for her father that day better. </span> <span>She tells them about her sadness when Lindir vanished after the Mereth Aderthad, but is glad for it brought back her grandfather Maglor. The second Son of F</span><span>ё</span><span>anor, </span><span>who is present,</span><span> looks at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. </span><span>Later, in a quiet moment, she will tell Lindir of how glad she is to see her father smile more. She heard the wish Celebrian made on the shores, for Elrond to find new love, and she won’t begrudge her parents their choices.</span></p><p class="western">
  <span>The twins </span>
  <span>however, </span>
  <span>are not too happy, Lindir can see it in their postures. </span>
  <span>They </span>
  <span>also </span>
  <span>won’t begrudge him and Elrond their happiness, but they still love their mother </span>
  <span>and they weren’t there at the last good-bye</span>
  <span>. For them, the memory of Celebrian is a cherished one. Lindir understands </span>
  <span>this. It will be a long way for him to gain their full trust. Maybe it will be impossible</span>
  <span>. He knows what happened to their mother. It was brutal and sent the twins into a spiral of </span>
  <span>hurting, </span>
  <span>hunting and </span>
  <span>hate</span>
  <span>. They’ve never truly moved past it. Elrond told Lindir </span>
  <span>in advance</span>
  <span> to expect his sons to not be as supporting as his daughter. </span>
  <span>Seeing the outcome now, it tells Lindir how much Elrond knows the mind of the twins. This is a loving family and he hopes to find a place among these wonderful elves.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">After the meal, Elladan corners Lindir in the hallway. Where Elrohir is, the minstrel does not know. He knows the two, as young as they are, know how to share their minds. If one is cornering him now, he does not doubt he is truly in the presence of both. Elrond is still in the main hall, talking with Erestor and nobody else pays them any attention and Lindir refuses to seek aid. This is only Elladan.</p><p class="western">“You won’t replace her”, the young Lord tells him. His eyes are like steel, his expression serious. The tone of his voice bites.</p><p class="western">Lindir flinches. He expected some stern words, but not this force behind the words. Still, he already thought up an answer in his anxious mind. “I don’t want to. Your mother was – is an exceptional elleth and I hold her in high regards, even if I have never met her. Do you think me so cold?”</p><p class="western">
  <span>It is now Elladan’s turn to draw back a little. Lindir managed to take</span>
  <span> the wind out of Elladan a bit. “</span>
  <span>No. But </span>
  <span>as you said,</span>
  <span> I do not know you very well. If you hurt father -”</span>
</p><p class="western">Lindir shudders at the thought. He would never! Lindir bites his tongue to not cry this out. He thinks about his answer for a moment and tries to be diplomatic. “No threats necessary, Elladan. I understand your sentiment and am glad you and your brother are looking out for your father.”</p><p class="western">This is so awkward. Lindir has never been good with diplomacy, but he needs to learn fast if he wants to stand besides Elrond. He never expected such fierce resistant talk with one of the twins. It shows him how much he underestimated those two elves. The chance of them accepting him as family has been small, but Lindir had hoped. This conversation lets him doubt again.</p><p class="western">Elladan surprises Lindir again by nodding. “Peace, Lindir. Neither me nor Elrohir are your enemy, but we cannot give you our blessing yet.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lindir and Elrond are spending much of their time with Maglor. The old minstrel is still very reluctant to leave the family wing. So far, he’s only attended the breakfast gathering maybe three times. The Fёanorion prefers to hide, because of multiple reasons. Elrond tries to convince him of leaving more often, mostly without achieving the wished for result.</p><p class="western">Maglor however allowed Elrond to begin treating the scars the simaril left behind. “They won’t ever fade completely”, the old minstrel says. “These are burned into my fёa too, not only affecting the body. But it would be nice to regain more movement with my fingers.”</p><p class="western">By now, the treatment shows effect. Maglor is able to move the fingers of his hand more freely, making him able to play the harp again. Not for long, but it is progress. Lindir gifted Elrond’s adoptive father one of these instruments. There are always more of them than there are active minstrel’s in Imladris, so it is no hardship to give one to the most famous minstrel of all times. The other musicians accepted Lindir back as if he’s never been gone, which is another relief. They are also very curious about Maglor, but so far the young minstrel has kept them in check.</p><p class="western">Elrond has not spoken with Maglor much about the First Age, as far as Lindir can tell. In his Lord’s stead, he would have been very nosy, but there is reason to Elrond’s silence.</p><p class="western">The silence breaks when the Lord of the Valley asks his one living father about the fate of Maedhros, who he considers a father also.</p><p class="western">Maglor looks shocked for a moment, before he sighs and relents. “How much do you know?”</p><p class="western">“I know what your followers told us afterwards. How the decision to reclaim the stones came to be and what happened after.”</p><p class="western">“You know most of it then.”</p><p class="western">“Tell me about Maedhros, ada.” The <em>I want to hear it from you</em> is being left unsaid, but Maglor understands it and begins to talk.</p><p class="western">“He wasn’t well. Hasn’t been for a long time, in fact”, Maglor says. “The simaril being near was the final push.”</p><p class="western">“I read in a book that you tried to stop him”, Lindir says. “Is this really true?”</p><p class="western">Maglor nods sadly. His posture shows his reluctance to share the story. “We argued about it for hours in our tent. The guards outside must have heard a lot of it. In the end, I was unable to convince him to forsake the cursed stones.” At this, Maglor stops for a while. “After everything, I started to wonder, if it had been his intent all along to get the stone out of the hands of the elves and Valar alike.”</p><p class="western">“Is that why you threw yours to into the sea?”, Elrond asks, holding Maglor’s hands still.</p><p class="western">The old minstrel shakes his head. “I gave mine to the only Valar who had really cared for the elves in Beleriand. Ulmo, who spoke with Turgon to found Gondolin, which was a safe city for many years.”</p><p class="western">“But it was never seen again. The simaril that found his way to the Valar is now a star, by Varda’s grace”, Lindir remembers. “Where has yours gone?”</p><p class="western">Maglor actually smiles. “I prayed to Ulmo to make it a light in the deep dark sea where the stars do not shine.” It was the only prayer I ever made.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods. “I think he would have listened”, he says encouraging.</p><p class="western">“I like to think he did”, Maglor agrees.</p><p class="western">Elrond keeps silent. “And Maedhros?”</p><p class="western">Maglor sobers up very quickly. “He threw himself into the flame and I was too late to stop him. I do know where his fёa dwells now. I fear he’s gone to the void as we all swore.”</p><p class="western">“But wasn’t the Oath fulfilled with your taking of them?”, Lindir asks.</p><p class="western">Elrond shakes his head. “Fёanor’s words be damned. He was too much of a genius to not close those holes in the wording.”</p><p class="western">This does not help. Tears begin to spill over Maglor’s cheeks and Elrond embraces his father. “For the first moments after I felt his death, I thought he could be returned to Fingon, as he always wished”, Maglor sobs. “Then I remembered the Oath and our fate and decided to not die or fade, to keep the memory intact.”</p><p class="western">“So he was really in love with Fingon”, Lindir whispers. “I had wondered.”</p><p class="western">Maglor’s smile returns for a moment. “Theirs is the most tragic love story in all of Arda.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Some weeks later, when they are sharing their evening meal in Elrond’s rooms, the Lord asks an important question. “Do you want to stay the night?”</p><p class="western">Lindir nearly chokes on his salad. The question sounds far more suggestive than he is comfortable with. He blushes.</p><p class="western">Elrond notices his discomfort. “Not in that way”, the Lord says and gives Lindir a chaste kiss. “I am aware you are not ready for this yet. But you seemed fine with cuddling so far…”</p><p class="western">He is correct of course. Lindir loves cuddling with his beloved. Elrond is so soft when they are in private. It is a delight. He’s fantasized of sharing a bed with him already. Lindir nods. “I would be honoured to share your nights.”</p><p class="western">“No need for formal speech”, Elrond murmurs and kisses Lindir again.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">A week later, Lindir visits the garden again. The one where the roses grow. Elrond is still in an important meeting with Erestor and some other councillors. As far as Lindir knows, they are discussing on how to proceed with the threat of Sauron being reawakened.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">By shear chance, Maglor is out in the garden too. This is somewhat surprising, seeing it is the midst of the day. Normally, the old minstrel does not often leave his quarters in the sunlight.</p><p class="western">“Lindir”, Maglor greets him.</p><p class="western">“Greetings, Maglor. Are you enjoying the sun today?”</p><p class="western">“I do. Sometimes I do miss the shores a bit, so sitting here, watching the waterfalls soothes my mind.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods in understanding. Walking along the sea was not bad and he thinks back now with fondness. “Do you mind if I would sit down beside you?”</p><p class="western">Maglor shakes his head and slides to one side of the bench he is sitting on. Lindir walks the last few steps and sits down.</p><p class="western">“There is something on your mind, young one. It concerns me, so tell me.”</p><p class="western">“What?”, Lindir asks confused. He hasn’t talked to anyone but Elrond about his thoughts of introducing Maglor to the other musicians. “Has Elrond spoken with you?”</p><p class="western">“We talk a lot. But that’s not it.”</p><p class="western">“Then how do you know?”</p><p class="western">Maglor sighs. “I have always been sensitive to the minds of others. Do not worry”, he adds at Lindir’s shocked expression, “I can’t read you thoughts the way Galadriel is able to. One could describe my talent as extended empathy.”</p><p class="western">Lindir swallows. Again, he wonders how much Maglor has been sensing from him before. On the other hand, his gift is not as invasive as the Lady’s is. Slow, he breathes in deeply, tasting the humid air of Imladris. Then, he answers. “I meant to ask you if you would like to meet the other minstrels of my home.”</p><p class="western">Now it is Maglor’s turn to swallow heavily. “I am not sure if this is a good idea.”</p><p class="western">“Why do you think so? They are eager to maybe learn some old songs from you.”</p><p class="western">“You told them about me?”</p><p class="western">“Your arrival in Imladris was never a secret to begin with. I only talked to them to make sure they understand how important you are to Elrond, should one of them have stronger feelings about the past.”</p><p class="western">The Fёanorion nods. “I will think about it.”</p><p class="western">They sit in silence for a while, staring into the bushes. There is nothing much to say. Lindir would have preferred to have this conversation on any other day in the future. Still, he does not like lying or evading much, so he answered truthfully to Maglor’s inquiry. He will give the other ellon the time he wishes for, to come to a conclusion.</p><p class="western">“One day, I will accompany you”, Maglor finally says. “It won’t be before the wedding of Lord Glorfindel and Erestor. After it, I will come.”</p><p class="western">“Alright”, Lindir agrees and smiles. He does not ask for the reason for this scheduling, he believes Maglor has his reasons.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">On his way back into the family wing, Lindir runs into Elrohir. It is actually something he has been trying to avoid, direct confrontation with the twins. After their tense talk about his new relationship with their father, the twins rode out again, hunting orcs, so avoiding them had not been a challenge.</p><p class="western">Lindir nods in greeting. Elrohir is wearing his hunting gear, mostly heavy leathers, made for riding. He is still carrying his sword on his side. The leathers are stained with dirt and other brownish patches, probably blood. Lindir does not want to think about it. Blood and gore are not his forte, even if he knows basic self defence.</p><p class="western">“Ah, Lindir!”, Elrohir greets him.</p><p class="western">Lindir resists the urge to bow. This is the son of his beloved, a young lord, but Elrond told him to stand up for himself. “Elrohir. It is good to see you.”</p><p class="western">“You too.” There is a smile on the lips of the twin. It gives Lindir hope for this awkward conversation.</p><p class="western">“Has your hunt been successful?”</p><p class="western">“Yes. Me and ‘Dan found a some orcs who seemed a bit lost. We rid them of their confusion.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>By now, Lindir </span>
  <span>is able to decipher the meaning of this flowery language. The orcs are dead and their bodies most likely burned to ash and rubble. “</span>
  <span>Well done”, he praises the Son of Elrond. It comes from deep within him. He appreciates the safety the hunters bring by hindering wandering orc packs on coming too close to the hidden valley. It makes the road safer for everyone </span>
  <span>travelling them.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>E</span>
  <span>lrohir nods and brushes back a stray of his dark hair. “</span>
  <span>See you later, Lindir. I think I need a bath”, the ellon says, sniffing the air.</span>
</p><p class="western">Lindir grins. “You do.”</p><p class="western">Elrohir actually chuckles at these very undiplomatic words and then leaves, going towards his own rooms. Lindir however, turns towards Elrond’s rooms and hides there. It is childish behaviour, but meeting Elladan in the corridor too would be more than he can take.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">This is where Elrond finds him an hour later, playing his harp. Lindir’s been regaining some confidence with his craft again in the past weeks since he started his sessions for his lover.</p><p class="western">“There you are”, Elrond says. “I have been searching for you.”</p><p class="western">Lindir carefully puts his instrument away, setting it onto a shelf. “Why, has something important happened?”</p><p class="western">Elrond shakes his head and smiles. “No orcs or anything else of the sort.” He makes a few steps towards Lindir and pulls him into a passionate kiss. “I wanted to ask you an important question”, he whispers.</p><p class="western">Lindir’s heart doubles it’s speed. He can feel the blood pumping in his veins. Against Elrond’s lips, he mouths: “Yes?”</p><p class="western">“Do you want to share these rooms on a more permanent basis?”</p><p class="western">Lindir fears he’s dreaming for a moment. Has Elrond really asked him to move into these quarters? Into the family wing of the rulers of Imladris? He must be hallucinating.</p><p class="western">
  <span>He isn’t. Elrond is waiting patiently for his answer and Lindir is at a loss for words. </span>
  <span>Of course he wants to move in, so to speak. On the other hand, he has no experience with love and living together. What comes out of his mouth is an undignified sound. “I would be honoured”, he articulates finally, when he can trust his voice again.</span>
</p><p class="western">“You do not have to make the decision now. I just would like sharing a bed with you more often, my dear”, Elrond says. “Remember, you are always allowed to say no or later.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>L</span>
  <span>indir leans inward and kisses his beloved again. He has to make the decision himself, if he is comfortable with the pace they are progressing with. He nods. “I would like that, too. But I won’t give up my own rooms just yet. There will be nights I think I will need some solitude.”</span>
</p><p class="western">Elrond breathes in happily. “That is a wise arrangement.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I talked with Maglor, about the music thing. He considers it”, Lindir tells Elrond a bit later. “Though, I am still not over the conversation we had with him before. What he said a few days ago concerned me.”</p><p class="western">“There is still a lot be concerned about, with him”, Elrond agrees. “He’s not fine, even if he tells me so. The centuries have left their marks on him.”</p><p class="western">“He said, he lives and doesn’t fade because he sees it as his duty to keep the memory of his family intact”, Lindir reiterates the old minstrel’s words. “This sounds like miserable reason to me.”</p><p class="western">“And still, it kept him alive. I would like to see him content once again, but it won’t be an easy journey. He has to find the will to make changes himself, we can’t force him, only accompany him.”</p><p class="western">“So all we can do is to give him time?”, Lindir asks. He understands Elrond’s approach though. Maglor is nothing that is broken that can be fixed. He’s a complex person, changed by his past. It will take time.</p><p class="western">“We can show him possibilities, family and hope. Support him. Your idea with him joining the minstrels was a good idea”, Elrond declares.</p><p class="western">“Then this is what I will do”, Lindir responds. Then he leans forward and kisses his beloved.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“Father told us about your new living arrangement”, Elladan says at dinner the next day. He and his brother are dressed very similar and have changed their place at the table. Lindir has seen this before, when they were trying to fool visitor. Watching the high table as often as he did, the minstrel can distinguish them by their posture and speech. Elrond is not at the table yet, his duties as lord are keeping him away. This is the perfect time for the twins to corner Lindir and the minstrel knows it.</p><p class="western">“Oh”, he mutters. It is not exactly a surprise. They agreed early on they would not be keeping many secrets from the Lord’s children, so Elrond telling his sons is nothing to wonder about. “Yes, we talked about it yesterday.”</p><p class="western">Elrohir looks at Lindir with a calculating expression. “Why did you not give up your own quarters as soon as you had the chance?”</p><p class="western">Lindir swallows. “Your father and I, we have duties to Imladris”, he articulates carefully. “We can’t make decisions that are completely selfish, without regards for the city. Sometimes there will be nights one of us needs their rest without the disturbance of another person, especially because we are or became unused to another sleeping beside us or even in the same room. Keeping the second room is only logical, at least for some time.”</p><p class="western">Elladan leans inward, his gaze sharp. “I did not expect you to be so thoughtful.”</p><p class="western">Before Lindir can think about it, he asks: “Tell me Elladan, what did you anticipate me to do?”</p><p class="western">“For you to take every chance given to you to get close and cling.”</p><p class="western">“I do not think we would love each other, if that was what I needed”, Lindir professes. “He’s independent and I won’t take that from him.”</p><p class="western">This time, Elrohir listens intently. “For an ellon as young as you are, you are surprisingly wise”, he states.</p><p class="western">“Thank you?”, Lindir suggests. He does not really know how to answer this. Is this Elrohir being supportive or a hidden affront? Fact is, he doesn’t know how to read Elrond’s children yet. He is younger than them and he did not grow up at Imladris. For the time he’s been living here, he never talked with them much. The twins were gone too often on their hunts to form any sort of connection. “I hope we will get to know each other better with time”, Lindir adds.</p><p class="western">Elladan leans back. “I hope so, too”, he says. “By the way, how comes it you can distinguish me and my brother?”</p><p class="western">Lindir laughs. “You are more blunt than your brother, but Elrohir is the one who asks the important questions.”</p><p class="western">“You may be correct, though most would have answered they keep us separate by the scar Elrohir has earned during one of our hunts on his hand”, Elladan retorts.</p><p class="western">“Scars fade”, Lindir shrugs. “At least minor ones like yours”, he replies into Elrohir’s direction. “Becoming dependant on one to distinguish you would not do forever.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">“I think you may have made an impression on my sons”, Elrond tells him later that day, when everything is said and done. They are sitting on the edge of the bed in Elrond’s rooms again.</p><p class="western">“How so?”, Lindir asks. In his opinion, the conversation at the dinner table did not go too well.</p><p class="western">Elrond looks at him sternly. “Elladan has not relayed everything, but he told me you are a good choice.”</p><p class="western">This comes as a surprise, but a happy one. “I hope they will accept me as family one day”, he whispers, trying to hide a tear of joy.</p><p class="western">“I think they will”, Elrond adds and leans against Lindir. The young minstrel lifts his arm and his Lord slips beneath it. The warmth of his beloved’s body settles against his side.</p><p class="western">“I have a present for you”, Elrond whispers into Lindir’s ear.</p><p class="western">The young minstrel is fully awake again in a second. “A present?”</p><p class="western">“Your eyes resemble those of an elfling on their begetting day”, the Lord chuckles.</p><p class="western">Lindir glances around the room, not meeting the gaze of his beloved. “I like getting presents.”</p><p class="western">“Alright. I just hope it is not too much. I commissioned it shortly before the Mereth Aderthad for you. Until I brought you back, I wasn’t sure of the design, so I waited, not giving more instructions to the artist.” Elrond talks a bit more, but all Lindir can see is the very big packet his beloved holds into his directions. The item is wrapped in blue fabrics, held in place by a white cord. The gift is quite big, but Lindir can hold it in his hands easily. Carefully, he unwraps the layers.</p><p class="western">It is a beautifully crafted harp, the wood polished to a shine and carved with intricate symbols. It takes a while for Lindir to recognize them for what they are. These are typical Noldorin ornaments, but there are waves rolling over them. From experience, Lindir realizes how priceless such an instrument is. The carvings are the works of a skilled craftsman or woman and must have taken weeks.</p><p class="western">“Thank you”, he sobs. “This is so beautiful.”</p><p class="western">Elrond smiles. “It is for you only”, he clarifies. “Would you like to test it?”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods, tears of joy running down his cheeks.</p><p class="western">Later, they fall asleep on the bed, cuddling and sharing warmth underneath the covers, the music still on their minds. Both wake up well rested in the morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next week, we will reach the last chapter before the epilogue, which means this ff is nearing it's end.<br/>After this, I will have something short with Celebrimbor planned. With which other character would you like to see him? Narvi, Talion or Gilgalad? Please tell me, I am still unsure.<br/>Also, I started working on a longer Russingon story, but I am not sure when the first chapter will be ready.<br/>Have a good week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. A Marriage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Glorfindel and Erestor get married and Galadriel has a chat with Maglor. Everything turns out better than expected.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is now where the rating comes into play:<br/>CW: tender sex scene at the end of the chapter. If you don’t want to read it, skip after 'That night, after the newly-weds have left' to the next and last <br/>Through a mix up in the posting schedule, some of you may have already seen the epilogue. I am sorry, I will reup it next week.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">
  <span>The next morning, Lindir goes to Erestor’s office to </span>
  <span>do his end of the bargain they made weeks ago. They had wanted to start sooner, but somehow never found the time.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>With the fast engagement of the chief adviser and the Lord of the Golden Flower, time is running</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>When</span>
  <span> Glorfindel tells the story, his death made him aware of the passing of time, </span>
  <span>hence the short notice of the wedding.</span>
</p><p class="western">“Most old elves think they have all the time in Arda”, Glorfindel answers, when Lindir asks him. “I found out one never should underestimate time. One can suddenly run out of it.”</p><p class="western">Erestor just shrugs at that. “I am a one-love kinda elf”, he declares. “I have not felt attraction to anyone before Glorfindel and doubt I ever will. He’s the one for me. With the war coming up, this is as good a time as any.”</p><p class="western">Lindir is already painfully aware of the fact of the elvish disregard for time, but he does not comment on it. He won’t be able to marry Elrond in the old elven tradition (in this, Elrond is considered married to Celebrian still), but he doesn’t really mind. As one of the younger generation, there is no guarantee he will be able to share a deep bond with someone else like the first elves did anyway. This is enough for him, the intimacy and the trust.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>The guest list, </span>
  <span>when Lindir first sees it,</span>
  <span> is </span>
  <span>a mess</span>
  <span>. Glorfindel and Erestor argued over it a lot, to </span>
  <span>the minstrel</span>
  <span>’s knowledge. Erestor wanted something small, only including some inhabitants of Imladris, whereas Glorfindel wanted to invite most of their social circle, with elves form Lothlorien as well as the havens. In the end they found </span>
  <span>a compromise, inviting only the closest to them from the other realms and all elves of Imladris. </span>
  <span>It leaves Lindir with a list, that has crossed out names and strange annotations to it. He does not regret the deal with Erestor in the slightest.</span>
</p><p class="western">Lindir then helps to pen all the invitations, feeling reminded of the preparations for the Mereth Aderthad. The marriage is thankfully much smaller. There will only be about eight guests of high importance from Lothlorien and additional five from the havens. No one from Greenwood will come though, seeing as they are still trying to repair the damage done to their forest by the spiders and other dark creatures.</p><p class="western">
  <span>The names from the havens, Lindir does not recognize. Apparently they are two craftsmen Glorfindel k</span>
  <span>nows</span>
  <span> from </span>
  <span>the time of</span>
  <span> Gondolin and three of the haven’s guard he trained and is friends with.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>T</span>
  <span>he Lothlorien delegation consists of the ruling pair, Lindir’s three marchwarden friends, one other guard Glorfindel knows and </span>
  <span>two </span>
  <span>scribe</span>
  <span>s</span>
  <span> Erestor is fond of. </span>
  <span>Some more invitations were sent to these realms, for </span>
</p><p class="western">All the other fancy invitations go to the inhabitants of Imladris. Lindir does not expect to get a letter himself, for he is helping writing them and Erestor asked him personally already. The adviser surprises him by giving him a beautiful written invitation too and Lindir tears up. Especially when he realizes where his seat will be. Erestor assigned him to the Lord’s table, the seat next to Elrond.</p><p class="western">“Thank you, Erestor”, Lindir says. “It is an honour.”</p><p class="western">“Get used to it”, the adviser just mutters under his breath. More clearly, he adds: “It will probably become your seat soon.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>Lindir blushes again. Should Lord Elrond announce their relationship, the young minstrel will be expected to be at his partner’s side. Since Maglor’s arrival in Imladris, the seating arrangement has already shifted to include the F</span>
  <span>ё</span>
  <span>anorion at the Lord’s table. </span>
  <span>Another change in such a short span of time is unusual, but not out of the question</span>
  <span>. Lindir does not know yet how to feel about this. He likes his seat with the other minstrels, but he also wants to be at his beloved’s side </span>
  <span>at the official meal times</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p class="western">“Yes, probably”, he replies to Erestor’s assessment.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Although they are already living together, Elrond and Lindir have not made their relationship public. By this point, almost all the elves of Imladris are aware of the recent change in their status, but the visitors from the other realms will certainly be surprised. With their courtship so advanced as to sharing quarters most nights, it will be time soon to make the announcement.</p><p class="western">That evening, they are cuddling in bed again and Lindir can’t resist the urge to ask Elrond when they will do so. He feels awkward doing so in this position, but does it anyway.</p><p class="western">“Do you want this?”, Elrond asks.</p><p class="western">Lindir looks at the ceiling. “It is not my choice to make. You can choose the day you think is best. I am ready”, he replies.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">In the run up to the wedding of Glorfindel and Erestor, Elrond announces Lindir to be the new Lord Consort over one breakfast. When he invited Lindir to the High Table in the morning, the minstrel knew what was going to happen. By now, they are already living together, so most inhabitants of Imladris already know, but are keeping quiet.</p><p class="western">“My friends. I have an announcement to make”, the Lord says. “As most of you are aware, I have entered a courtship with Lindir of Imladris some weeks ago. After some discussion, our relationship is now at a point we feel it necessary at to inform you. Lindir will be from now on considered Lord Consort and have his place at my side.”</p><p class="western">As expected, not many elves of Imladris react with surprise. They have not been a well kept secret. There is a bit of a murmur, but not much more. Almost silently, the seating arrangement shifts. Lindir gives up his place at the minstrels’ table and joins Elrond’s side on the table for the nobility of Imladris. Erestor and Glorfindel just smile at his inclusion in their round.</p><p class="western">There is some talk about Elrond’s previous marriage, and how this new development is wrong or unfaithful to Celebrian. When Elrond once catches two guards make snide comments towards Lindir, he just tells them about Celebrian’s last wish and then proceeds to send the morons to cleaning duty.</p><p class="western">More reactions comes from the announcement of Lindir’s new position to the leaders of the other elven realms. Cirdan just sends his congratulations with a letter. This is addressed to Elrond as well as Lindir. It reads <em>To the Lord and Lord Consort of Imladris</em> on the cover. Celeborn’s massage is written in a colder tone, but he too seems to have come to terms with Celebrian’s choice over the years and kind of welcomes Lindir to the family. Galadriel’s addition at the bottom reads like thinly veiled shovel talk directed at both parties.</p><p class="western">Thranduil’s reaction is not the best one. His notice is short and biting, but he also shows good will towards Lindir.</p><p class="western">“He’s just frustrated. He and his wife never really loved each other, but she did not set him free before her death”, Elrond explains. “He remains here, bound to her.”</p><p class="western">Lindir now sympathizes with the Woodland king a bit, even if he think this ruler to be an idiot sometimes.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">As is their habit, Celeborn and Galadriel’s group comes a bit earlier than the other guests. Erestor already expected this and arranged the accommodations accordingly. The party is much smaller than the one travelling to the Mereth Aderthad and so Lindir does not have to share. Well, he wouldn’t have had to anyway, as he’s now living together with Elrond. His old rooms have been given to someone else, but they won’t have to share either. There are enough empty beds in Imladris.</p><p class="western">This time, Lindir stands at Elrond’s side when the guests arrive. Galadriel and Celeborn are riding at the front of their small group of maybe fifteen marchwardens. These are the protection detail, for the long way. Most of them will sleep in the barracks with the wardens of Imladris, except for the guest who were invited by name.</p><p class="western">“Greetings to the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien”, Elrond says in ways of greeting as soon as the ruling pair is in front of them.</p><p class="western">Galadriel smiles. “Greeting, Lord Elrond and Lord Consort Lindir. It is good to see you again.” Her eyes shine with warmth. Lindir still fears her, but now he does not have to hide his love for Elrond. It lets him relax.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Diplomatic matters come up soon enough during dinnertime that day. Galadriel and Celeborn are seated at the Lord’s table, as their station commands. Maglor is absent. Lindir knows he begged to be excused from this.</p><p class="western">“Tell me, Elrond, where is my cousin Maglor? I would like to speak to him.”</p><p class="western">Elrond lays down his cutlery and seeks out Lindir’s hand under the table. Of course, he has told Galadriel of his finding of Maglor, but she had not commented on it so far, or shown her feelings about her cousin.</p><p class="western">“He thought it best to not meet you in such a public place”, Elrond answers very calmly. Only the press of his hand betrays his nervousness. In truth, neither he or Lindir have any idea what to expect of the meeting of these two old elves. So far, Galadriel has shown much sympathy and understanding, but always in hypothetical discussions. Now, the finding of Maglor has come to pass and at least Celeborn makes a face as if he’s bitten into a lemon. Understandably, he has his own past with Fёanor’s sons, being of the line of Doriath.</p><p class="western">“Would you please tell him that I would like to meet him? I promise, he has nothing to fear from me or Celeborn.” With these words, she gives her husband a sharp look and he nods, seemingly overruled.</p><p class="western">“I do not know, if I will be able to forgive him <span>or</span> his family”, Celeborn says. He looks at Elrond with brutal honesty in his eyes. “<span>But I won’t </span><span>take action against him or his kin, because violence has never done any of us good.”</span></p><p class="western">Lindir does not really like this reasoning, it sound shallow to his ears. Otherwise, Celeborn is of Doriath, which was basically destroyed through Maglor and his brothers. In this light, Celeborn’s words are very understandable and Lindir appreciates the honesty.</p><p class="western">Elrond just nods. “Maglor did not hope for more.” Then the Lord turns towards Galadriel. “I can inform my adoptive father of your wish to meet him, but I will leave it up to him if he want to or not.”</p><p class="western">The Lady of Lothlorien does not look satisfied with this, but she does not try to change Elrond’s mind, at least as far as Lindir can judge it. There is always the possibility of her using her intimidating mind-speak-powers.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Surprisingly, Maglor agrees to meet Galadriel the same evening.</p><p class="western">“She tried to contact me before, using her powers”, the old minstrel declares. “I did not let her into my mind though.”</p><p class="western">Lindir is baffled. He wasn’t even aware of this possibility. “You can shield your mind?”, he asks.</p><p class="western">Maglor nods. “Most old elves can. It requires some studying. In Valinor of old, it was the most important talent to learn.”</p><p class="western">“Nowadays it is not.”</p><p class="western">“I imagine so”, Maglor says. “Elrond told me of how few elves are still talented in these powers.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods. He grew up without any magical talent and does not feel like he missed something. The old elves who are gifted in such ways mostly scare him. Well, all except for Elrond. He’s aware his beloved sometimes has visions of the future, but it is more of a passive talent. Galadriel, who is able to enter one’s mind is much more scary.</p><p class="western">“I do not want to meet her alone”, Maglor suddenly says. “Would you mind accompanying me, Lindir?”</p><p class="western">“Why me and not your son?”</p><p class="western">Maglor smiles sadly. “If I would have asked him, he would be forced into the middle of a possible family conflict. Also, he has guests.”</p><p class="western">Lindir agrees to the request. There is nothing else he can do, for his own peace of mind. If Galadriel frightens him, he does not want to know how Maglor is feeling right now, having the past stand between them.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lindir is the one to inform Galadriel of the meeting with Maglor. Elrond is still with the ruling pair of Lothlorien, amidst a discussion, when the young minstrel disturbs them.</p><p class="western">“My Lady Galadriel. The one you requested to speak agreed to a meeting.”</p><p class="western">She seems to accept his courtly manners and stands up. “Thank you, Lord Consort. Shall I follow you now?”</p><p class="western">Lindir bows slightly. “That would be most desired.”</p><p class="western">
  <span>Somehow, he can </span>
  <span>see </span>
  <span>Elrond’s amusement. His beloved smiles. Lindir does not know if it is because of his strange formality or Celeborn’s dark expression. Most likely both.</span>
</p><p class="western">
  <span>N</span>
  <span>evertheless, Galadriel follows him to Elrond’s office. It is vacant for the time being. Erestor has been given the week off, with the unmistakable order to not return to work during theses days. Maglor hence decided to use it for this meeting. Elrond and Lindir’s quarters would have been another option, but those would have been a too intimate location. The same goes for Maglor’s rooms, which have become a refuge for the old minstrel.</span>
</p><p class="western">Lindir opens the door and goes in first. This would normally be against the protocol, but he does care for Maglor’s comfort more. Elrond’s father sits in front of the fireplace, a brown blanket on his lap. He turns his eyes to the door when Lindir enters. The fire is the only light-source in the room and what little come in through the windows does not make much of a difference.</p><p class="western">“Hello Artanis”, Malgor says, when the Lady enters behind Lindir.</p><p class="western">“<span>Makalaur</span><span>ё.” She switches over into an old form of quenya for the conversation and Lindir is lost. By now, he knows some of the language, but he never heard it spoken. Also, this form is so archaic, he would probably have never understood it anyway. So, all Lindir can do is to listen to their tone. At least their conversation does not seem to be a hostile one.</span></p><p class="western">“Do you want some tea?”, he asks at a small lull in their conversation. There is a full can of tea at the side of the fireplace, kept there for keeping it warm. Galadriel nods in thanks.</p><p class="western">When Lindir pulls them the tea, the two powerful elves are still staring at each other. Especially Galadriel seems terrifying. It takes the young minstrel a few moments to understand that they are communicating mind to mind. He quickly glances at Maglor, but he seems not to be in much distress. He grips the pot with the tea harder than necessary, but shows no other signs of discomfort.</p><p class="western">After about half an hour, Maglor seems exhausted and Galadriel starts speaking loud in Sindarin again.</p><p class="western">“Thank you for meeting me today, cousin”, she says. “I will leave you to your rest now, until tomorrow, when we meet again at the feast.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"><span>As </span><span>some of </span><span>the guests of honour, Galadriel and Celeborn sit with the Elrond and Lindir at the newly wedded couple’s table. All of them are high Lords, but the place on the</span> head has been given to Erestor. The dark haired ellon almost glows with happiness.</p><p class="western">By now, the ceremonial part is over and the feast is in full swing. The ceremony was very beautiful and small. Now, there is music playing and elves are dancing. The wedded pair is sitting at the table and tells the story of how they met for the first time. Lindir, who already knows the story, only listens with half an ear. He keeps watching the other merry elves around the hall.</p><p class="western">Maglor, who has also been given a place at the table, is strangely absent. Lindir does not know what Galadriel said to him and fears this is what is keeping him away. Elrond, being the Lord, cannot leave the table, so Lindir is the one going off in search. Thankfully, Maglor is not far away. The old minstrel has found one of the corners Lindir liked to hide in.</p><p class="western">Lindir crouches down beside his friend. By now, he thinks he can call Maglor a friend. “Is something amiss?”, he asks. Maglor’s eyes are shining in the dark corner.</p><p class="western">Still, the old minstrel nods. “Yes. It was a beautiful ceremony.”</p><p class="western">“It was”, Lindir agrees. Elrond had taken over the role of the speaker, the one to officially announce the bonding of the two fates. An elven marriage is valid even without ceremony or feast, as it only needs the consent of the two parties. Having a trusted elder, family member or Lord speak for a pair still makes a difference, even in elven society.</p><p class="western">“Why are you hiding here?”, Lindir wants to know. “Because this is what you are doing.”</p><p class="western">Maglor looks at the floor. For a long while, he does not say anything, but obviously he is fighting with himself. When he does finally speak, his voice is trembling. “I was thinking of my brother. Of how he deserved such a beautiful ceremony for him and his love, but never got it, because of father’s madness.”</p><p class="western">Lindir reaches his arm out and lays it across Maglor’s shoulders. “I am sorry”, he whispers.</p><p class="western">“You can’t understand!”, Maglor grouses. “He was so in love with Findekáno, he refused to marry in secret in Valinor, and then after father’s death because of the cursed Oath.”</p><p class="western">“And then Fingon fell in the Nirnaeth.”</p><p class="western">“It broke Mae and he never really recovered.”</p><p class="western">“Have you talked with Elrond about this?”</p><p class="western">Maglor shakes his head, tears running down his cheeks.</p><p class="western">“You should tell him. I do not know of how much he is aware. You talked about Maedhros and Fingon before, maybe it will help you, if you tell him about the past. Elrond will understand far better than I can. For all my studies, I am very young.”</p><p class="western">Maglor nods and Lindir has the feeling he means it.</p><p class="western">“Now, tell me, what did Galadriel say to you? If you can tell me. She kept your conversation private for a reason.”</p><p class="western">“You are awfully curious. She had much to say about my bad choices, as expected. She did not, however, threaten to kill me or take revenge for the past.”</p><p class="western">“So you made up?”</p><p class="western">“I would not call it by such a term. We started making peace between the branches of our family and this is more than I ever hoped to experience. Also, Artanis acknowledged that she too has blood on her hands, like all we Noldor have.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods. He’s aware to which family line Galadriel belongs and what their role in the rebellion once was. “It sounds positive.”</p><p class="western">“She also told me she thinks there is hope for my brothers yet, even if I can’t see it.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">That night, after the newly-weds have left and the feast is finished, Elrond and Lindir retire to their shared room. Both are completely sober. Lindir because out of duty as the minstrel and Elrond out of similar reasons, being the one to officiate the ceremony. Both are not really tired. Lindir's fingers feel a bit tender after playing his harp for nearly half the night. He lets Elrond open the door for him and slips into the dark quarters.</p><p class="western">His Love lights the lamps in the middle of the room, illuminating the space with flickering light. Not many elves use actual fire nowadays, but Lindir prefers it this way. Elrond had agreed to include some lamps using the principle in their home.</p><p class="western">Lindir walks towards their shared bed and sits down on the edge of it. He watches his beloved shedding his outer robe, which is a heavy fabric embroidered with graceful ornaments. It is a sign of his high station. Even though Lindir is now acknowledged as the new Lord Consort, his own garments are much simpler.</p><p class="western">Elrond sighs happily when the outer robe slips of his shoulders. Once Lindir would have jumped up to put the piece of clothing safely away into storage, but now he just watches. Underneath the outer layers, Elrond wears a dark blue layer out of a light fabric which flows with his movements. The inner layer is only held closed by a belt, opening up slightly towards the neck. There, Elrond's pale skin shows. It drives Lindir's inner hunger. He wants to taste the skin there. He knows he's allowed to do so. He's kissed Elrond's neck before. Now he has the urge to worship and nibble the skin. It is a strange feeling for him.</p><p class="western">Elrond watches him attentively. The Lord sits down next to him. Lindir looks towards the ground, but his beloved puts his fingers underneath his chin, turning his face upwards again.</p><p class="western">Their eyes lock and Elronds initiates a soft kiss. They've kissed often. This time is different. A shudders runs down Lindir's spine and he moans into the kiss. His lips open on instinct and Elrond deepens the kiss. The Lord's tongue brushes the soft skin of Lindir's lips and pulls back slightly after.</p><p class="western">“Is this fine?”, Elrond asks.</p><p class="western">Lindir looks into his Love's eyes and nods. “Yes”, he whispers.</p><p class="western">Elrond dives back and kisses his minstrel again. After a while, Lindir takes his courage and lets his lips brush a path down to his lover's neck. He nibbles the skin softly with his teeth, sucking bruising kissing into it. He doesn't know what overcame him, but it feels good. When Elrond leans back, offers his skin freely and moans, Lindir becomes aware of his arousal. He pulls back, his face flushed.</p><p class="western">“Lindir?”, Elrond asks. His voice has dropped. The Lord notices his minstrel's situation and smiles. “Kiss me again, my love.” Lindir does not hesitate to do so.</p><p class="western">He kisses his Lord again, first on the mouth and then the neck again. He alternates between the two spots.</p><p class="western">Suddenly, Elrond pushes forward a bit. It is he who looses the belt holding his robes. “You are allowed to explore as much as you wish”, Elrond declares, shrugging off the fabric.</p><p class="western">Of course Lindir has seen his beloved naked before. They've been sharing their room and the bath for a while now. Also, there'd been the time after Elrond's return from Dol Guldur. They even cuddled in the nights, with their upper bodies bare.</p><p class="western">This time is special because of the <span>intent behind their movements</span>. Elrond permits Lindir to touch him in this intimate way. The minstrel flushes. The way their bodies are angled is not the best for this. He blushes further. Elrond however is a very considerate lover. The elven lord sits back on the bed and indicates Lindir to <span>sit in</span> his lap.</p><p class="western">Once he is seated, they embrace for a while. Then Elrond removes his own circlet and Lindir follows the example. Then he lets his hands roam over the body before him. It has it's scars, but is all the more beautiful for it. Lindir carefully runs his fingers along those fading lines. Elrond shudders and leans inward to kiss again. After a while, the lord lets his own hands wander and tugs suggestively at the belt keeping Lindir’s robes shut. The minstrel shudders and holds still for a few moments. Then he relaxes his shoulders, giving his partner the permission to loosen his clothes. The heavy fabric slides down his shoulders and the air prickles along his skin. Now, it is Elrond’s turn to explore his lover. Lindir feels the rough hands sliding along his arms, guiding the robe further down. Then the hands return to his neck, pulling him close again. Their bare upper bodies touch and the arousal in Lindir spikes. He sighs happily into Elrond’s mouth. His beloved uses the moment to slide his hands down Lindir’s front until they find his nipples. The first contact makes Lindir groan instantly. Realizing this feels very, very good, the minstrel tries to reciprocate. He lifts his hands up, laying them flat against Elrond’s pectoral muscles. He’s still a bit shy, so he does not look. It takes him a while to find the two tiny spots, but when he finds them, Elrond basically moans into his mouth. The reaction is worth the little bit of awkward thinking in Lindir’s head. Playing with his lover’s body rewards him with more of these small happy moans and deeper kisses, so he continues with his exploration.</p><p class="western">It is Elrond, who is more experienced in the matters of the body, who lets his right hand drift even further down. When he touches Lindir for the first time, the minstrel shudders in pleasure. He does push his hips forwards a bit, deeper into Elrond’s grip. The friction is almost too much and not enough still. Lindir ruts forward again, chasing the feeling.</p><p class="western">When they both come, their fёa soar together high. For a precious moment, their minds touch in the way of the elves. Lindir can feel the love for him his beloved holds. A dim part of his brain knows, Elrond is receiving the soothing feeling of love returned. They kiss each other again and lie there, entwined together.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading and commenting! This was the last major chapter, next week will be the epilogue.<br/>Also, my next work will be a short Celebrimbor x Gilgalad Modern Day AU!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Surprise! I wasn't able to wait with this update, so here you go.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">The War of the Ring is over when Lindir feels the sea-longing for the first time. He's standing on the upper floor of Minas Tirith, having accompanied Elrond to Arwen's wedding. His Love is sad, knowing his daughter will die some day in the future and he won't be there for her. They've already discussed the matter of sailing. Elrond has been hearing the call for some years now, holding on for his children and Lindir. Together, they agreed on sailing soon after the wedding.</p><p class="western">Lindir is alone for a moment, Elrond spending the last hours with the new Queen of Gondor. Arwen was a picture of radiance in her beautiful dress, given to her by her grandmother. The minstrel knows they will travel back to Imladris in a few days. There Elrond will step down from his position as Lord and his sons will ascend in his place. The twins are not sure of their own fates. It breaks Lindir's heart to know his lover can loose all his children to the mortal fate. He wishes at least one of them will sail one day, but it is not his decision. He told them as much. By now, they have come together as a family and Lindir regrets the breaking of it when they set sail.</p><p class="western">Strong arms suddenly surround him.</p><p class="western">“Why are you out here all alone?”, Elrond asks and leans in for a kiss.</p><p class="western">They share the moment for a while without Lindir answering. The kiss lasts for a long while, here underneath the stars shining over Minas Tirith.</p><p class="western">When Lindir comes up for air again, he looks over the field stretched out before them. It still bears the marks of the battle. “I feel the longing for the far shore now, too.”</p><p class="western">Elrond snuggles a bit into his neck, holding onto Lindir tightly. “It is time, soon, for me to leave this shore.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Getting Maglor to join the party travelling to the havens is hard. The old minstrel is reluctant to go, he still clings to his exile, even if Cirdan allowed him safe passage. In the past years, the Fёanorion has taken up his music again. He’s still not playing for large audiences and prefers to play with only Elrond and maybe Lindir listening. He’s become a great teacher of music and history though, telling the youth about what happened in the First Age. Surprisingly, he even began teaching small humans, as soon as it became clear the elves will leave the shores after the war, if they survive it at all.</p><p class="western">“Knowledge is not a privilege of our race”, Maglor said. “They deserve to remember.”</p><p class="western">Elrond smiles his polite smile to this, but allows it. “Maybe they will remember, likely they won’t.” Still, Elrond tries his best to convince his father to sail. Lindir is aware his beloved will not accept no for an answer. It would truly be better for Maglor to see this soon.</p><p class="western">“What if the Valar do not let the ship pass I am on and let it sink? I would be responsible for more elves to go to the Halls of Mandos.”</p><p class="western">Elrond takes his father in his arms. “You are allowed to go to the blessed realm. If not for yourself, do it to accompany me.”</p><p class="western">It is a low blow, but leaving Maglor on his own has never been an option. Lindir knows this. If the other minstrel stays behind, he will never come to Valinor as long as he lives. They worked on Maglor’s fears in the past years, but there are ones nobody can take from him. Nobody in middle-earth knows what happened to his brothers after they fell. If the Oath took affect and banished their fёa to the void, or if Eru had mercy on them. Maglor’s nightmares point towards the cruel version, but Lindir tries to convince the other of the opposite.</p><p class="western">In the end, Maglor joins them on the ship. He sits among the other travellers leaving the shore and is the only one looking back towards middle-earth.</p><p class="western">Lindir sits down besides him and follows the gaze.</p><p class="western">“I spent so many years walking these shores”, Maglor explains. “I want to see them one last time.”</p><p class="western">Lindir nods. He has no concept of how long the other spent there. More the four times the years Lindir is old. “I had a good time in Imladris”, the young minstrel says. “I am going to miss it, even though I am ready to see Valinor.”</p><p class="western">“It is beautiful”, Maglor tells him. “I must have changed since I last saw it in the light of the trees, but still beautiful.”</p><p class="western">“What has been your favourite place?” Lindir wants to know.</p><p class="western">Maglor smiles a bit. “The city of Tirion, with it’s great halls. Some of them were built for music performances and had the best acoustic you can imagine. Underneath the trees. Or my mothers house. In Beleriand, I had my own lands and castle, which I sometimes missed, for the elves around me.”</p><p class="western">“I would like to see Tirion”, Lindir muses. “Especially if the sound travels in those halls as good as you claim.”</p><p class="western">“You will have the chance to go there soon”, Maglor tells him.</p><p class="western">Lindir nods. “Will you stay with our family when we arrive.”</p><p class="western">Maglor swallows. “I would like to, but it depends.”</p><p class="western">“On what? I would like you to remain by our side.”</p><p class="western">“If the Valar are merciful and if my own extended family is. If the ones I wronged or killed are still furious.”</p><p class="western">“You think about much, do you?”</p><p class="western">“Yes. Don’t you?”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Maglor is correct. Lindir has been anxious about the trip to Valinor for a long time now. He’s Elrond’s chosen new partner, accepted by many. In Valinor, not many know about this. Lindir has no idea how the Lady Celebrian will react. She’s by law still the wife of Elrond, even if they split up amicably. Lindir does not know if she moved on like her husband did, or if she would want him back. The young minstrel does not have a claim on his beloved. He fears to loose him. The worst thing is, Lindir knows he will not put up a fight. If Elrond decides Celebrian is where his happiness lies, Lindir won’t stand in their way. He is aware of how deep the couple was in love once. Elrond had always been open about his marriage with the silver Lady. Their love was strong.</p><p class="western">Of course, Lindir told Elrond about this fear and his beloved told him he should not think about such things. “I would marry you, Lindir, if it was possible”, Elrond told him.</p><p class="western">That it isn’t possible is what breaks Lindir’s heart. He hopes the laws of Valinor have changed, for this practice of not allowing couples to split up has caused much problems in the past. It is one of the reasons the past happened as it did. What would have been, if the story of Finwё had taken a different course?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The havens and the shore disappear in the mist and Lindir takes Maglor’s hand. Together they go to the front of the ship, standing next to Elrond. The Lord is watching the only star shining above them. It is the light of Eärendil.</p><p class="western">Lindir kisses his beloved’s cheek. “What are you looking out for?”, he asks.</p><p class="western">Elrond just nods towards the lonely star. “Our guiding light. Sometimes it is hard to imagine it is my blood father out there, showing us the way.”</p><p class="western">“The light of a simaril”, Maglor says. “I am glad it is for everyone now.”</p><p class="western">“Do you still feel the pull?”, Elrond asks. “To possess it, I mean?”</p><p class="western">Maglor shakes his head. “When Maedhros and I took the two stones left and threw them away, we forsook the oath and resigned ourselves to the void. Seeing the light of Eärendil’s stone is only a bitter reminder of what was, is and will be.”</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The ship docks and they are ready to depart it. Lindir is still unsure of his place. He doesn't know if he should leave the boat on Elrond's side. Thankfully, his Lord just takes his hand and leads him to the new shore.</p><p class="western">There are many elves waiting on the docks. It seems like many awaited the arrival of this ship. Lindir does not know any of them. His own family has not come, which does not surprise him. How would they have known?</p><p class="western">Elrond beside him leads them after Galadriel, towards a woman clad in white, her silvery hair falling down in soft curls. This must be Celebrian. Lindir's stomach sinks. He did not expect to meet her so soon. Next to her stands another ellon he does not recognize, but is vaguely familiar.</p><p class="western">Galadriel and Celebrian embrace and the former Lady of Lothlorien takes her time.</p><p class="western">Elrond just stares at the other male elf. Then he smiles happily and bows. “My king”, he greets the stranger. It is now that Lindir finally realizes just who is standing in front of them. It is the former High King Ereinion Gilgalad. Reborn. The minstrel follows Elrond's lead and bows too.</p><p class="western">Gilgalad laughs. “You will find there are many former kings roaming these shores, courtesies are not needed. It is good to see you again, old friend.”</p><p class="western">Elrond grins and embraces the old king. He introduces Lindir next and the minstrel feels out of place. He never thought he would be this close to the elven royalty (besides Elrond).</p><p class="western">They talk amicably for a while, until Celebrian joins them. Now, Lindir can get a good look at her. She is beautiful, despite the silver scars running over her face. In fact, they make her even more beautiful. They tell everyone about her strength, endurance and will. Should Elrond and she want to rekindle their marriage, who is Lindir to stand in their way. It would break his heart and -</p><p class="western">“You are the one who holds his heart and makes him happy?”, she suddenly asks. She smiles benevolent. “I am Celebrian.”</p><p class="western">“Lindir”, he stammers. “I am honoured to finally meet you, my Lady.” He bows, partly to hide his flushed face.</p><p class="western">When he straightens again, she is watching him intently. This time, he meets her eyes. “I hope I do”, he answers to her first question.</p><p class="western">She turns to Elrond. “You chose well. I am glad you are happy.”</p><p class="western">“And you?”, the Lord asks. “You set me free to find love again, but I will not see you alone and unhappy on these shores.”</p><p class="western">Celebrian smiles. “I hoped for you to have found someone again, for I have too.” She grasps the hand of Gilgalad and smiles up at him. Lindir releases the breath he did not know he was holding back. He leans against Elrond's shoulder.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">As much coaxing as it took to get Maglor onto the white ship, it takes even longer to help him get off it. They have made much progress with addressing the old minstrel's fears over the past few years, but the particular one about Valinor they had not been able to dispel.</p><p class="western">“What if I am not welcome here. What if they sent me to the void”, Maglor repeats again and again. It is not a full blown panic attack, but it is close.</p><p class="western">Lindir is not much help, but he sits beside the Fëanorion and gently rubs his shoulders. He wants to say words of encouragement, but they dry out on his tongue. He hopes his presence is enough.</p><p class="western">Elrond's patience is never ending. “We have made the journey and the boat has not been lost in the passage. You are welcome in Valinor and no Vala has come to judge you. Please, ada, come with me.”</p><p class="western">At the words of promise by his son, Maglor let's himself be led off the ship slowly. He still overthinks every step and is slow, but he is going forward. Lindir clings to his side, offering his arm for the old minstrel to lean on to. In the meantime, the crowd has thankfully shrunken down. There are only a few elves lingering, Galadriel and Celebrian among them. They are waiting patiently for Maglor to step onto the shore.</p><p class="western">Gilgalad is strangely absent.</p><p class="western">Maglor nearly cries when he lets his eyes take in the soft hills near the shore. The land where he spent his youth. Lindir imagines it must look different know, with the sun instead of the trees. Still, Maglor has not made the final step. They are now at the end of the board bridging the space between the boat and the sand. The old minstrel has his eyes trained on his feet, when he makes the final step.</p><p class="western">Lindir is preoccupied with watching over Maglor, so he does not notice the figures appearing upon the nearest hill, all of them angled towards the ship. The tallest one of them breaks out in a run, red hair flying behind him.</p><p class="western">It is Lindir, who sees him first, Elrond also more concentrated on Maglor, who has sunken down into the sand, exhausted but happy. Finally in Valinor and not been sent to the void.</p><p class="western">Elrond whispers words to Maglor. “We are here, ada, in the land of your youth. And see, the Valar have judged you worthy of these shores. None have stepped forward, you have not been sent to the void, and I doubt any of your family was.”</p><p class="western">Maglor is not very responsive. There are tears running over his face. Lindir does not know if they are tears of joy or sadness and does not want to presume. Instead, he carefully touches his beloved’s shoulder and points towards the ellon who comes running towards them.</p><p class="western">Elrond turns around and faces the newcomer. His face goes slack, clearly surprised. “Oh”, the Lord of Imladris says, his voice laced with disbelief. He takes a step to the side, out of Maglor’s field of view. He then encourages his adoptive father to raise his head. “Ada, look!”, he implores, pointing to the red haired elf. Lindir has by now a very good guess as to who this is.</p><p class="western">When Maglor looks up, the old minstrel nearly breaks down. The tears begin to flow again and this time, he sobs. Lindir’s guess must be correct then. The one storming down the hill is no other than Maedhros, the eldest brother and Elrond’s second adoptive father. Gilgalad and another elf Lindir doesn’t recognize follow slower.</p><p class="western">Maedhros has reached Maglor by now. The two brothers embrace. Lindir is happy for them, for their grief and fear will be healed and made lighter. They cling to each other for a long while. It is surprising to him that the red-head ignores Elrond though.</p><p class="western">Maglor seems to realize it, too. He pulls back a little and gestures Elrond to come closer. “Mae. This is Elrond, who has the ill sense to call himself our son.”</p><p class="western">Now it is Maedhros who looks surprised.</p><p class="western">While the Fëanorions had their moment of bliss, Gilgalad came closer and is now standing next to Lindir. “Oh. I must have forgotten to mention his arrival in all the excitement about Maglor”, he scratches his head. “Uups. Oh, by the way, Elrond, Lindir, this is Fingon”, he introduces them to his companion.</p><p class="western">Elrond performs the polite bow again. It is not very elegant, because Maedhros is still clinging to him too. “I am Elrond. I’ve been raised by those two brothers over there.” Lindir notes the avoidance of Eärendil’s name.</p><p class="western">“It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Maedhros told me much of your childhood”, Fingon says, smiling all the while. He does not wear the golden bands he became famous for. This is why Lindir was not able to place him before the introduction. He has the bearing of a royal still, even though his clothing is not hinting at the past at all. Fingon and Maedhros are both wearing simple robes. Maedhros’ is of a dark green colour, contrasting nicely his hair. Fingon wears one of blue threat. It has small ornaments embroidered onto it with yellowish thread, but otherwise unremarkable. Against Noldorin tradition, they are not adorned with much jewellery. Lindir can only see one ring one each of them. On the left hand. Maedhros’ ring is copper, with some golden wire melted in intricate patterns onto it and a small obsidian gem at the top. Fingon’s ring is mithril with copper wire and a red gem, probably a ruby, on the top. Lindir thinks both are beautiful.</p><p class="western">“Maglor, remember Fingon?”, Maedhros asks his younger brother.</p><p class="western">Maglor nods. “Of course. You were so in love with him.” Then his eyes travel down and he looks at his borther’s hands. “You did it, didn't you?”, he asks.</p><p class="western">Maedhros lifts his left hand. “He already took one hand, the other I gave him more willingly. We married shortly after my return to these lands.”</p><p class="western">Maglor actually smiles at that revelation. “Finally”, he says. Maedhros just grins happily.</p><p class="western">Lindir and Gilgalad watch from the sidelines. “Were they always like this?”, the minstrel asks.</p><p class="western">“Who? Maedhros and Fingon?”</p><p class="western">“No, them I knew about. I mean, right now, the oh so dangerous Sons of Fёanor seem very cuddly to me.”</p><p class="western">Gilgalad snorts and shoves Lindir into the cuddle-pile.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Elrond and Lindir find a home in a small settlement, started long ago by Celebrian. It shares many similarities with Imladris, but there are influences of Lothlorien there too.</p><p class="western">The Lady Celebrian invited them, to keep her family close. Her reasoning is sound. Even if her marriage to Elrond is no longer, they still share their past and children. It would be cruel to make the children choose at which parent’s side they will make their home, if they decide to sail. This is a constant point of concern for Elrond as well as for Celebrian. Lindir can understand their worries, but he has not the deep connection to the twins as their parents do. Many days are spent between the four of them, talking about the past and the children. Celebrian took the message of Arwen’s choice not very good and it takes her a long time to come to terms with it. Lindir tries to offer her comfort on more than one occasion, but it is hopeless. He thinks the choice is cruel in nature. Either way, it spells loss for some parties, be it the human or the elven sight.</p><p class="western">In the end, the twins sail both, shortly after the death of their sister Arwen. The queen faded shortly after her beloved king’s demise. She leaves a son to take over the crown and three daughters, who by then are happily married. None of them have the choice and are all counted as humans. They will never meet their grandparents. The only thing remaining of their lineage will be a longer lifespan and slightly pointed ears. All these traits will vanish with the further generations.</p><p class="western">The twins do not only bring those bad news. They bring the last of the elves home. Most notably are Glorfindel and Erestor, who both witnessed the end of the elves in middle-earth. Imladris has been given to trustworthy humans, but no one is under the illusion the city will last forever. They have now their new home and the hidden valley will forever remain a treasured memory. Especially for Lindir, who lived most of his life there and found love among the old walkways and arches.</p><p class="western">They lead the twins to their new settlement, which shares much in terms of architecture with the lost realm. For a few weeks, Elladan and Elrohir stay in the extra rooms Elrond offered them, but it seems their adventurous natures have not calmed down. They travel to the woodland where most of the elves of Lothlorien have found refuge and where Galadriel and Celeborn are now dwelling. The boys were missing their old friends.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Lindir and Elrond share a small house in Celebrian’s settlement. It is big enough to house their friends and family and yet remains cosy. Sometimes they travel through the lands, to see the parts of the family who make their life somewhere else. Most of the times, it is the city of Tirion, where their way leads. The big bulk of the Noldor of old took to settling there, especially the line of Arafinwё. Somehow, Lindir becomes friends with Finrod over the years and they exchange much knowledge of music and art.</p><p class="western">Elrond mostly meets with scholars. As one of the most important elves of the Third Age, the scribes and teachers of Valinor are interested in his account of these times. When they are at home, Elrond sometimes complains of how little understanding the elves of old have of humans and dwarves alike. It annoys the old Lord so much, he begins to write his own book of the history and relations during the Third Age.</p><p class="western">It is a good life.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">NOTES</p><p class="western">I have written another <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25932085">Elrondir</a>, a modern soulmate AU, with Lindir and others being rock-stars.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">THANK</p><p class="western">My greatest thank you goes to KittenWolf29, CakeFairyForever, Moony and msgeekstyle, who have written many lovely comments and kept me invested in this story. I loved reading your words every chapter of the way and hope to see you on another story one day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading and all the kudos and comments!<br/>This journey has come to an end, but others will begin. Maybe some of you will find their way to one of my stories again.<br/>Until then,</p><p>Sylanna</p>
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